The Lion King: The Freak
by Tiger Khan
Summary: The sad story of a li-tigon in a world where he's utterly alone from day one. He has no true name, and no true feelings. Will he be accepted; at all? What will happen? OC, set during and after the movies. T for some bad language, extreme animal violence.
1. Prologue: Mothers and Fathers

The Lion King: The Freak

Prologue: Mothers and Fathers

* * *

(Updated 7/11/2011

This is my first Lion King fanfic, and probably my most epic writing piece so far.

First, a few words of caution—this chapter will get gory and a little on the dark, brutal side. There is also some bad language. These trends continue in future chapters, and in many cases, hit even darker and more violent extremes. I therefore suggest that young children and those who don't like darker fiction avoid this piece.

If you decide to read on, however, let me tell you that you're in for a heck of a ride. Freak alone is longer than the entire Lord of the Ring series, and the parallel story, My Name, is another hundred and some thousand words. It's certainly a big piece, but I suggest reading on if you like action, adventure, and all the other things that we watched TLK for in the first place. There's romance, combat, conflict, and a whole host of other things that you will find out if you read on.

There's not much more to say except: here you are, the chapter that started it all, edited and revamped for the year 2011. Let's rock and roll.)

* * *

The gaunt, young tigoness breathed heavily, as rain trickled down from the tall jungle trees above her. She was exhausted: she had come to death's door already.

And the wet weather didn't help. Every drop of liquid spat down at her by the sky soaked up what heat was left in her body. It made her slow, lethargic, and too soggy to walk properly—she'd tripped twice, already, and only at the last seconds had she twisted her body to avoid falling on her swollen belly.

She walked on, constantly battling against the heaviness constantly trying to make her eyes shut. Now and then she swayed on her feet and rested her side against whatever tree was closest, but she couldn't rest. Home was far, and the more time she spent outside, the wetter, colder, and more dead she got.

Her hunting trips over the past few days had been entirely unsuccessful. She had not been able to get even the smallest bite of food. At the end of her pregnancy, she could hardly walk without feeling nauseous. But she still had to try to hunt when her exhaustion and nausea subsided, because there was no one to hunt for her.

Being a crossbreed, between a male tiger and a female lion, she did not quite have the mentality of her tiger father to hunt alone, and had been rejected by every pride that she met. The strength of the pack was just too fragile to be upset by such a freak of nature, a name that she'd often been called.

"_Freak,"_ she spat, "_it hurts me every time they call me that... but deep down, I know it's true."_

"_Mom didn't really seem like a cub-raiser... But I can't really blame her. Dad had raped her, taken her body for his own when she was much too young for it. It shouldn't have come as a surprise to me, that day, when the pride banished me..."_

* * *

The tigoness was only six months old, barely finished suckling from the lionesses of the pride. She had never suckled from her mother, however; the still-young lioness said that even the sight of her only living memory of the intrusion upon her body made her ill.

The rest of the tigoness's brothers had died off. She'd seen one of them die herself—and so had her mother.

But this one was strong. She had managed to live through a cubhood of being totally ostracized from her so-called family. The lionesses had grudgingly taught her basic hunting skills, as the rest of the lion cubs refused to play or associate with her. But that didn't stop them from calling her what they did.

Chukizo.

That's what they called her. It meant, loosely translated, "abomination", but the stigma attached to the word was one too strong to be expressed in other languages.

Chukizo.

Despite her name, the tigoness had never, ever allowed another animal to see her cry or show any weakness and live. She knew that the only being in the world she could count on was herself, now that her brothers were dead, and that every other animal in the world was predator or prey. There were no friends, there was no family; no comforting home to come to after a lone hunt. No relatives to take pride in her efforts.

No one.

Forced solitude was a thousand times worse than any other fate the world could throw at a being. She knew this, somehow, though she'd never known any other sort of life. She somehow knew that there was something particularly Hellish about living with others who wouldn't give a damn if she was out in the desert, bleeding to death by herself.

She didn't care. No, that wasn't quite right—she did care, but she couldn't really do anything about it. She'd tried, time and again, in any number of different ways—but she always failed to find anyone that would accept her. So, instead of wasting her time attempting to accomplish impossible tasks, she did what she could do to improve her life—she hunted.

The desert was barren where she was, but that's how it always was. There were just a few trees there—trees, and a few square yards of parched grass. An underwater river of some sort lay meters below the ground, and that was provided life to the air—plantlife, and, sometimes, animal life as well.

Chukizo was stalking a small lizard, alone, like always. She was just about to pounce on it—when something pounced on her. The cub felt dagger-like claws rake her side, and a heavy weight pin her to the ground, and she tried to struggle out of instinct—but she couldn't get anywhere.

Then, a chatter of laughter focused her confused mind.

"Well look what we got here, boys... the freak, Chukizo!"

Three other cubs walked up to the tigon. The one that had spoken up was the son of the alpha male. He was flanked by his "girlfriend" (Chukizo didn't know if the lioness had been threatened by the alpha or forced by her mother to submit to the young male's fledgling desires), and another cub that Chukizo knew to be something of a cold-hearted sadist. Now, she was a hunter by nature, but she killed quick and she killed clean. But more than once, she'd walked in on this cub torturing an insect, or scratching up a mouse and to watch it run away and bleed to death.

The goon that had pinned her to the dusty ground was the alpha male's young nephew, or the cousin of the hateful little brat that was walking up to Chukizo. She stared up at him with no emotion in her eyes, but couldn't help but flinch when he spat on her too-bony snout.

"Look at you, you ugly piece of shit," he sneered.

The cub smacked her face, while the one pinning her down laughed in a goofy manner. The lioness had no reaction, and the other cub just smiled sadistically. Chukizo yipped in pain, but knew that no help was coming.

The alpha's son just laughed again.

"Yeah, that's right... go ahead and whine all you want. Nobody cares."

He laughed again, and called the sadistic cub over to him with a flick of his paw. The pale, maneless male sauntered up to Chukizo's face.

"Hello there," he rasped, unsheathing his claws.

The tigoness whimpered as the sharp, hooked naturally-occurring blades were brought closer and closer to her hapless form. The cub chuckled for a moment, a horrifying, dark sound, then slowly cut her face, enjoying each second of it.

Chukizo screamed, but the rest of the males only laughed harder. The young lioness tried to look away, but she was too late. Chukizo caught her eye.

"Please... help me..." the tigoness begged, and for a second, she thought that the other female might do something.

But the lioness just closed her eyes and turned away.

The alpha's son sniggered for another minute. Then he prodded his accomplices.

"Enough fooling around. Let's really see some blood!"

All three laughed, and the larger cub on top of Chukizo pulled head skywards, nearly snapping her neck then and there, but exposing her jugular and windpipe.

The sadist cub smiled more than ever, then stroked the tigoness's bare throat with the tips of his claws. It was intimate in a way—he was experiencing her body in a way that he was not welcome to. Like her mother, it seemed, Chukizo was being raped.

He chuckled again.

"I wonder... how does it feel, to be so utterly helpless? So uncared for, so humiliated and degraded? You have nothing, abomination," he tensed his paw, ready to strike. "Not even your pride and dignity."

Chukizo broke down and cried. It was hard, in a position like that, head tilted upwards, a fat cub pinning her to the ground. But she did anyway.

The pudgy cub on top of her laughed, covering her head with snot. The other two caught sight of this, and literally rolled on the ground, giggling themselves. The tigon esscried for another minute, and then looked at the other two cubs that she could see. They were still taken over by their humor at her situation.

And then Chukizo decided that she had had enough. She promptly stopped crying—she sniffed, twice, then allowed rage to take over…

Ten minutes later, when the tigoness became aware of herself again, she nearly vomited at the scene around her.

The fat cub that had pinned her had bleeding globules of gore where his eyes should have been. The sadist was cut... open, really, innards slowly oozing into the desert sand. The lioness was nowhere to be seen. But the alpha's son... he was worst of them all. His back legs were broken beyond recognition, and most of the skin had been pulled off of his face. Numerous cuts and bite wounds peppered his tan body.

"_Oh, no..."_ Chukizo had thought. Whether she was horrified at what she'd done or simply by the consequences, she still didn't know.

* * *

The tigon grimaced as she remembered how she'd been chased out of the Desert by her own mother, and many other lionesses. They had banished her for life, under pain of death... in fact, they had actively pursued Chukizo for days, making sure that it was well-impressed on her how unwelcome she was... how unwelcome she always had been.

She'd never had a happy moment in the pride. No friends, no one to share in his accomplishments, no one to praise her, or offer a friendly paw when she needed lifting up. Life for her had been a living death—and, to be honest, her new home hadn't been much better.

She suddenly groaned and her eyes grew wide. The cubs were coming soon.

Heaving herself into a small cove, at least out of the elements, she reflected once again on how painful and difficult her life had been.

"_Do people realize how hard it is to be hated and mistrusted by everyone around you? To never be able to find peace anywhere? And then, when you think you've finally found something special... you realize that you've been stabbed in the back by fate again."_

* * *

It was about three months ago, some years after Chukizo had been banished from the Southern Desert. Since then, she had made no attempt to return—why would she go back? Life in the jungle was hard for one used to a desert environment, but at least she didn't have to worry about other predators. The tigoness was the baddest kid on the block... the only kid on the block. Since her exile, she had seen neither hide nor hair of another lion.

"_But I'm no lion,"_ she often had to remind herself. "_If I were a true lion... things would be different. Mother would care about me, and I might even have a father."_

"_But that's not how it is. I'm a... freak The offspring of a male tiger and a female lion. A one-of-a-kind abomination."_

She had been in her den, the hollow of a fallen tree, all alone and worried. It had taken her hours to trudge through the heavy rain back to her shelter. The rest of the animals in the forest had laughed at the wet cat, calling her names and making obscene hand gestures. One monkey even went so far as to throw something at her that hit her squarely on the head.

Big mistake.

With equal parts of violence and sleek, almost beautiful feline grace, she'd turned on her feet and ran up the tree. The monkey—a young one, to be sure—hadn't had a chance. He didn't even have time to react before she took him in her striped, clawed embrace—and then tore his head off with her jaws.

Chukizo started to feed on the monkey, though she was purposefully as quiet as she could be. After all... the monkey's parents were not to blame for his intrusion, and they did not deserve to have to face the gruesome disembowelment of their son.

* * *

"_Life is cruel," _thought the tigoness.

She licked his muzzle clean of the blood spilled on it, and curled into a tight ball. The tigoness needed the kind of warmth only created by company—but she wasn't going to get it. Over time, she'd come to get used to the cold. She never liked it... but she could live with it.

Barely.

Chukizo had been sleeping for a few hours, but was suddenly awoken by the soft sound of padded paws approaching. Even though she'd had no contact with another big cat for so long, it was absolutely unmistakable.

She wasn't alone.

The tigoness had yet to overcome her intense, but justifiable fear of fellow big cats. After all, her last encounter with them had resulted in her banishment from the only home she had ever known, despite the fact that she hated ever waking minute there. She felt her breath catch in her throat as her limbs grew clammy and cold—but then she forced herself to realize that she was no longer a cub.

She was still an abomination—always had been, always would be—but now she was as big as any lioness, and as deadly, with fighting skills honed to a vicious, curved point by a lifetime of solitude and hate.

Chukizo growled loudly as the darkened silhouette of a skinny lion appeared at the entrance of her den. The lion stopped, for a minute, then plodded forward a little bit more. And she realized what was going on—she was staring a hired and paid assassin, dead in the eye. Apparently, the Bloody Shadows contracted out to lions these days.

"_So... they really do want me dead. I wonder how much they paid… how good of a killer they could buy."_

"_Well, I won't make it easy for him."_

The young female summoned her courage and roared at the intruder. But rather than roar back or attack, he just took another step forward.

Chukizo was about to make the first move when he fell over. Instinctive, but unwise concern for a fellow big cat made the female rush over to him. She stood over him, still cautious, but quickly realized that he had collapsed out of exhaustion. Exhaustion, and something else. He was no threat to her, she realized, least of all in such a state.

Now, the tigoness had no idea what to do. Sure, she'd occasionally seen the other lionesses in her pride care for each another, or other animals do the same. But seeing didn't compared to doing. Chukizo acted on instinct alone.

She put a paw in front of the lion's muzzle to see that he was breathing normally. Good. Then, she gently touched her paw to his jugular. Concentrating, she could feel a healthy pulse.

So the lion was stable. But what now?

Curious, she nudged him with her paw. The lion gave no reaction… so Chuziko shrugged and sat down next to him, giving him a careful looking over. It had been so long since she'd see another big cat.

He was a skinny lion, with dark brown fur. His scruffy mane was limp and black, though strangely, most of his body was not wet at all. He must have missed the rain, but… his face was damp. Why?

The tigoness shrugged, and went back into the corner of the den. She lay down, but didn't sleep again, not exactly. She kept one eye on the lion, just in case...

* * *

Chukizo was lightly sleeping, her one open eye had shut long ago. The lion hadn't made so much as a peep for the hour that she'd monitored him. He had just fallen down, and was quietly, peacefully sleeping. At least, that's what it looked like.

He was having a truly horrible series of nightmares: about how throughout his entire life, he'd been second-best, always shunned to the side when compared to his brother, and now with the crowning of his new nephew as future king, he had absolutely no chance at the throne. Never would he have a fair chance at life. Never.

The dark lion stirred, and slowly got up. He was in a rocky cave of some sort... how did he get there? Ah, yes... after he'd found out that the crowning of his nephew was imminent, he'd run as far as he could, as fast as he could. He hadn't bothered to inform his only three friends in the world where he was going or when he'd come back. In fact, the lion didn't even know if he _was_coming back.

Groaning, he got to his feet, and looked around. Outside was a lush jungle, still watery from a recent rainfall. But inside the cave... was a lioness?

The dark lion jumped a little at the sight of her. She was no true lioness, that much he could tell at a glance. But she had the stature of one, and perhaps the jaw structure... but her fur was a subdued shade of orange, and scraggly gray stripes

Her face was a slightly more vibrant shade of orange, and after thinking for a moment, the lion realized that she had the muzzle of a creature he'd heard tell of from visitors to the Pride Lands and the Shadow Lands. She had the blood of a 'tiger' in her, he concluded, though he'd never seen one of the fabled big cats himself.

Chukizo suddenly woke up, to the sight of lion up and about. Understandably, she was surprised. She jumped to her feet, and the sudden action made the lion take a sharp step back.

The tigoness spoke, her voice harsh out of fear.

"Tell me your name and business, stranger. You're not from around here."

Despite his fear—and awe—the dark lion composed himself, and spoke in a soft tenor tone.

"Many apologies for my intrusion, dear lady," he said, and bowed his head slightly, though his yellowish eyes were still locked on her dark ones.

"I am Scar, of the Pride Lands, brother of King Mufasa, and uncle of," he spat bitterly on the ground, "Simba, future king."

The tigon lowered her guard slightly, retracting her claws. She had only heard of the Pride Lands in passing from lionesses from the Desert. She'd come in contact with two other tribes, one to the East of the Desert and one to the West, shortly after her exile, and they'd barred her entry on sight.

After those stressful encounters, she'd never even tried to gain access to the Pride Lands. Surely, if the strong lions there saw her, they wouldn't bother turning her away—they'd execute her then and there.

She nodded, curtly. "Scar of the Pride Lands… what is your business here?" she growled.

The dark lion paused, searching for the right words.

"I... was in mental distress. I—" he paused, and swallowed. He really ought not to say anything more, but he couldn't help it by that point. He looked to the side, and then he continued to speak. "You see… long have I held out the hope that my brother would not sire any cubs, or he'd crown me king at least from the time of his death until mine, to give me at least a few months of happiness..."

Scar paused. Never before had he spoken so much about himself, not to his so-called family, not to his friends, and certainly not to a stranger. But he felt the need to go on, and let all of his pain find an escape. He'd go insane if he didn't. But that didn't stop him from using language properly—he'd always been eloquent, albeit in his own, chilling way.

"But, my brother, the great King Mufasa, did not see fit to give me any pleasure in my life... I, Scar, who has saved him time and again from all the dangers of the world. I, the only being who has loved him unconditionally, despite the favoritism our father and _everyone _else displayed to him. I, who he so cruelly scarred all those years ago..."

The dark lion tapped the red wound that ran over his eye. They say that a blow lain on another with hate never does heal... and looking at the terrible injury that had been inflicted on the lion by his own brother, one could see the wisdom in those words. Even the tigoness flinched at the sight of the scar.

But after a minute in which the two big cats just stared at each other, Chukizo spoke up.

"I am… I don't have any idea what you're talking about. You see… I have no family. My father was a tiger, and my mother was a lioness of the Desert." She paused. "My father… _took_my mother's body. So, I was born into a world… that did not accept me. I… suppose I understand what it's like to be alone—in fact, I probably understand that even better than you. But the politics of a pride, of a family… I don't know the first thing about that."

The dark lion shivered for a moment. Here was a being that had been hated from the day of her birth, and apparently forced out of her own family. And yet there she stood, before him—strong, powerful, alive, and beautiful. Yes, she was beautiful, he accepted, with her rich fur color and her bright, attentive eyes, and her strong, lithe frame. She was no lioness, but there was something about her that was positively exotic.

"...What is your name?" he asked.

Now it was the tigoness's turn to look jarred. She brought her eyes away from him, and looked to the ground.

"...Chukizo. I am Chukizo."

Scar's eyes widened at the sad manner that the tigoness spoke. Why did she deserve to be sad? He could tell that she was tough: tougher than any lioness in his clan, maybe even capable of defeating Mufasa in single combat. Well—maybe not tough enough to take blows from paws the size of garbage can lids, but she could fight, he could tell, and hunt, and run, and move, and live in conditions a hundred times too dangerous for any lion or lioness he'd ever laid eyes on.

And yet there she stood before him, with tears in her eyes. And something about that struck him as terribly, horribly wrong.

He walked over to her. And he did something he'd never done before.

Scar, the freak of his family, the one always shoved to the side when his brother was around, the one who had only three beings in the world that he considered friends, nuzzled the tigoness.

Needless to say, she was more than a little surprised. Apart from her brothers, no one had _ever_shown her any sort of affection, much less physical love like that. But she didn't attack. She just stood still, and felt the smooth, bluntness of his face against her flesh.

"What are you doing?" she asked, though she was starting to get into the moment.

"I don't know. It just seemed like the natural thing to do," Scar simply stated. He kept nuzzling her—my, he thought, what wonderful fur she had.

After a moment, she nuzzled her back. The tigoness and the dark lion were both unfamiliar to the feeling that had sprung out of nowhere, but to a bystander, it would seem natural. The two beings were one and the same, and both were in desperate need of someone to—just _someone_.

After another minute of affectionate nuzzling, their tender motions turned into something else.

* * *

Chukizo sighed. Scar and she had only spent half a day together when they'd first met, but in that time, they had mated.

Afterwards, the two had spoken quite frankly about their lives, and the options before them. It had been the tigoness's suggestion to kill off the King and his son, and Scar didn't like it at first. But after a moment of persuasion, he understood that that dark course of action was the _only_course of action that would bring peace and stability to the world.

It was therefore justifiable. But killing his own brother, and his nephew… was still cruel. He would not enjoy them, he hoped.

"_After all,"_ thought Scar, as he walked back to the Pride Lands with only the stars to guide him, "_they have more than earned their fate."_

Scar had left her that night, promising to return when he could. He came to her to talk, and plan, and scheme, and do the other things that couples did—and then, after he killed his brother, he came to her again.

How proud of him she was. She kissed him and she held him tightly for as long as she could before prancing around with energy and excitement neither of them knew she had—she was ready to leave the isolation of the Jungle now and go to take her place at his side as Queen of the Pride Lands.

And then he explained that in the political strife of the introduction of hyenas to the Pride Lands, he could not bring his Queen to the rest of the clan. He hated the idea of having to leave her alone for so long, but she agreed with him. After all, the tigoness would only be acceptable to the clan in their weakest hour, when they would be physically unable to reject her.

Then, of course, Scar and her would bring unimaginable levels of prosperity to the land. Mufasa would be hated, or else forgotten as a weak, incompetent ruler, and she and her King would be worshiped, and loved, by everyone around them.

The dark lion had left again, promising to make life for the lionesses as hard as he could. Tactical leadership decisions were purposefully forgone by him; he did as much as he could to bring drought and famine to the Pride Lands. Eventually, the herds themselves started to leave.

And the lionesses suffered.

But somehow, they hung on. Sure, they'd gotten skinnier and skinnier, but they were never truly physically incapacitated. Scar had visited Chukizo again and again, each time with the same message: wait.

She had faithfully done so. And the last time she had seen Scar, they had mated again, and a few weeks after he left, she found out she was pregnant. The joy that she felt at this revelation was only increased by the thought that her children would grow up as sons and daughters of a king.

Scar had said that the lionesses were getting weaker and weaker, and that only the return of Mufasa could save them now. She had laughed at that and planted a kiss on his cheek just before he turned to leave, calling out to him to come back soon.

But the next time her mate was supposed to come to her... he never came.

At first, she understood. Overthrowing a kingdom was no small matter, after all, but weeks began to pass. And then she was sad—and then she was angry. Could her mate have forgotten about her? Was there some pretty lioness that had caught his eye? But as her pregnancy continued, there was a sudden migration: every herd of prey that had left the Pride Lands over the past few years returned all at once.

Somehow... the plan had failed. And the only way that Scar would allow his plan to fail is if he was dead.

She had mourned for weeks, and the troubles of being late in the stages of pregnancy only abetted that feeling of hopelessness. Again, she was totally alone: and now, she had less and less prey. With no one to care or hunt for her, she had practically died every day that she had taken an animal.

Chukizo had stumbled into her den. She had stumbled through life, ever since Scar had died—and then she felt her core tighten.

The cubs were coming.

The pain became more and more intense. It stretched the tigon's decrepit body to its limit... and even she knew that she would not survive much longer.

She laughed horribly.

"Do people really know how hard it is to be a freak? An abomination? Hated everywhere you go, with only a _single_being in your life acknowledging that you exist? Having to live alone for all your life, without the hope of change…"

"And now, fate has _cursed_me with cubs on my deathbed. I'm not going live through this… They're going to cry over my body for hours before they die too. They will die before even being able to live, killed before even having a chance at life… and in the most brutal, painful, and horrific ways."

She hadn't spoken that much all at once, not even since she'd been with Scar. Her voice hurt, and she might have registered embarrassment—but she was just too tired, too cold, too hurt, too close to being dead.

A tear rolled off of her striped muzzle.

"I can't allow that to happen. I _won't _allow that to happen."

Gathering her strength and resolve, Chukizo set her mind on two goals: allow her cubs to have a glimpse of the world, and then kill them as quickly as possible, as humanely as possible.

Chukizo's eyes widened, and she started to push. Strangely, the rain and clouds suddenly cleared up, allowing the sun to shine once again.

Despite her pain, the tigon managed to give a sad grin.

"_So... fate will be cruel enough to show my cubs the Sun. They'll see the Sun, and they'll see what they'll never be able to understand in their lives."_

The tigon suddenly screamed—and felt a great release.

The cubs were born.

After a second in practical unconsciousness, Chukizo managed to turn. There were two cubs, one a female and one a male. The female looked like her father, minus the mane and yellow eyes, but with jagged black stripes.

"My daughter... you are beautiful. Your father will be proud." She paused. "Give him my love, and tell him… that I will be with him soon."

The tigoness smiled, tearfully, and closed her eyes. She moved her paw—and she heard a soft _mew_, then only a gurgle as she slit the throat of the small female.

"I'm so sorry, daughter. But your life in the next world will be better than any I could have given you here... a freak of a mother, with a second-generation freak of a child... no, I did what's best for you. Please don't hate me for it."

Chukizo heard the sound of the small body fall the ground, and opened her eyes to look at the male. Though blood was already pooling around his small paws, he did not react. He just sat there, looking at his mother curiously.

At first appearance, he looked like a lion. He was built with a broad body, and a small tuft of a black mane. He was perfectly in between the dark shade of Scar, and the deep tan of his mother. At first glance, he had no stripes.

But a sudden change in the lighting of the cave due to the sun cast a different pattern of shadows and light onto his unimposing form. His stripes were also black, but so small and so hidden by the rest of his fur that they could only be seen in very unique lighting.

"My son... you truly do have a body fit for a king."

Chukizo coughed, and looked down to see blood drip out of her muzzle.

"I wish that I could give you a better life..." She groaned—now, it hurt to even speak, but she had to try. She had to tell him why she was going to kill him.

"If the world will not allow me to give you life… I will give you a heavenly _after_life with your father, your sister… and I."

The tigon inched her way to the male, and held out her claw. She meant to cut his throat—but incredibly, he jumped out of the way.

How could a newborn, whose eyes should still be shut, possibly understand the dangers of being clawed?

Chukizo wore an expression of horrible pain and confusion, but she tried to cut him again.

But again, he stepped off to the side.

"Son... I wish only to ease your passing. Don't resist me, please," she begged.

She struggled to her feet, and made to claw him yet again. And so he jumped, higher and farther than ever, totally evading the blow.

And now she was mad.

"So be it, child. If you do not decide to follow the wishes of your mother, I'll have to make you!"

With that, Chukizo lashed out with a blow so quick and so powerful that no living lion or prey beast could hope to evade it. She aimed to crush the cub's fragile head.

But incredibly, he saw the danger again and jumped back. He jumped back, but even he wasn't fast enough to avoid it completely.

The tigoness's claws had extended, and the male's eye was cut. No, not his eye—her claw had missed his eye. Instead, it tore off a bit of skin, fur, and eyelid. His face was forced down by the vicious blow, but after a second, he looked up at his mother again. And now there was an expression on his face—an expression of hate, fear, and utterly powerful defiance.

She saw this. And she gasped.

"You really are Scar's son," she breathed.

Indeed, the cut had given him a triangular wound that was perfectly identical to Scar's. Though blood still dripped from the terrible wound, she could see that it was starting to mend itself already, though it would never vanish entirely.

The tigoness roared, or screamed: a pained, dying, rasping sound, and she nearly fell over. No, after a second of balancing, she did fall over. The physical stress of standing and striking blows had left her without any strength.

She was finished.

She lay on her side with her eyes half-open. She breathe through her mouth more than her nose, inhaling coagulating droplets of her daughter's blood.

"So... I'm not supposed to kill my son? He's going to… survive to face a world that will be a thousand times worse to him than it was to Scar? Or me?" Her voice was slurred, and now the blood on the ground was not just her daughter's—it was hers, too. She heaved—

And she coughed up even more blood. And then she looked around and saw her son, sitting there, with his head tilted to the side. He was just watching her die, it seemed—it seemed that his first memory, that his welcome into the world would be tainted with blood, and hideous, painful death.

Chukizo was only heartbeats from dying now—she could prevent it, but she could select the manner in which she passed. She could go down sad and angry and leave her son to fend for himself… or, she could give him whatever she had left in her.

Her decision was made before she realized it. After all, she was his mother—she was the mother of a cub that she knew was destined to be greater than her or even his father. He needed strength—he needed comfort, and nourishment. He needed something that only a few beings could give.

And she was one of them—and so she smiled.

"You are a cub, my son. You need milk." She looked into his eyes, so bright and intelligent that she almost looked away—and she winced before continuing to speak.

"I won't kill you…but it is my responsibility as a mother… to feed you. So, please…" She moved closer to him. Propped herself up, and offered him her breasts. She looked at him with as much intensity and love as she possibly could, because she knew that when she died, he would never receive emotion like that again.

And he understood her. He got up, cautiously—and then he walked to her. He set himself down at her side.

As he started to suckle from her, Chukizo felt a feeling of elation. She touched him once, placing her paw on his head before giving him the only kiss he would ever receive—and then she got herself into as comfortable position as possible. She was laying down to die, and, for the first time, she realized that she would miss life. She would miss living…

_"Is this what being a mother is like?" _she wondered. She gasped—and felt her heart stop. Her thoughts grew cloudy as blood began to settle and coagulate in her brain. But she managed to smile—because she was happy. At least she'd get to be with her son once in her existence.

That's why Chukizo, the abomination, the tigoness, the mother, passed from the world painlessly, even as her son continued to feed himself with a meal only she would ever willingly give.

* * *

(I think it's a little better than how it used to be. I swear, fixing this up gave me the chills a few times. It's so nostalgic—but apart from that, I think I really understand why I wrote this kind of a fic. So, why don't you tell me what you think of the first chapter I've updated? Anyway, until next time this is the khan of both tigers and fanfiction—see you next chapter.)


	2. Reflections

The Lion King: The Freak  
Chapter 2: Reflections

* * *

(Ah, finally, some publicity! Add it or recommend this to a community, link it to your friends, give me feedback, suggestions, Hell I'll even take flames. I want to hear what you have to say. And since you want to know why Chukizo suggested that Scar bump off his brother and nephew... I'll explain. Also, I realized that unfortunately with the first chapter, astrixes did not show up. So instead, I'll just used a line break. Sorry for the confusion. Now, on with the fanfic!)

* * *

The cub continued to suckle at his dead mother's breast. Somehow, he knew that he'd not easily find nourishment. Things were complicated by the fact that he was incapable of eating meat, he could only consume milk. 

Eventually, the teat ran dry and the cub got up from it. He was still tired from being born, so he lied down next to his mother, curled up against her still-warm side for heat, and fell asleep.

The cub slept for as long as he could, about ten hours or so. He felt reasonably safe with his mother in her den: and not without good reason, most creatures that smell death and a grown lion with cubs in a corner will take several hasty steps in the opposite direction.

Unfortunately, however, a great mass of flies had congregated upon Chukizo's dead body. The cub stepped back, instinctively knowing that flies carried disease and filth, but only watched as they feasted upon the flesh of his mother.

"_I eat her milk. They eat her flesh. Little difference. No reason for retaliatory action. No possible gain through combat. Environmental hazard present: I must leave to survive."_

The cub stayed for another moment, however. Unfortunately, his mother had never imprinted on him enough to make him care about her. He was interested in what the flies were doing, and watched as they exposed blood and meat, quickly drinking away the former. Quickly, however, he lost interest in the scene and left his 'family' home with no intentions to ever return. He never even looked back.

* * *

The cub trotted out of the cave, and halted slowly several meters away. There was a small clearing in front of the cove, and he looked over the outside world for the first time. But the li-tigon felt neither wonder nor humility. He only saw a landscape that would try to kill him at any given opportunity, and that he needed to be smart, strong, and merciless to survive. 

"_She was strong. But she could not survive. I must be more strong: and more smart. She tried to kill me, but failed. She tried to cut me quickly out of mercy, but due to that she failed. Mistakes don't forgive. I can never make any mistakes."_

Suddenly, the cub was struck by another wave of thoughts.

"_Why did she try to kill me? I am of her. No reason: flesh was already present, and I gave her no reason to want to kill me."_

He looked at the ground briefly, but quickly returned to scanning the treeline, knowing that anything could happen at any time.

"_Not important. Everyone is a threat. Everything is against me. I will find a reason. But I must survive. I must live on. I will not allow myself to be killed."_

The cub shuddered. His head hurt from so much thinking... and though he was only several hours old, in his first minutes of conscious thought he'd evaluated more cold, hard facts than most other big cats do in their entire lives.

He folded up his paws, and laid his darkish head to rest on them, noticing that his eye was nearly healed.

"_Everyone is a threat."_

* * *

It was night by now, and miraculously, the cub had lived the day unmolested. Somehow, his luck had held out and no predator had dared to explore the tigon's cave, even though the scent of meat wafting from it was practically overpowering. 

He woke up, his black eyes quickly adjusting to the lack of light. The cub looked to the sky.

"_Large source of heat and light is gone... can't be relied upon. Self-reliance is key to staying alive. Must move on to find nourishment and more permanent shelter. Predatory motions against her are imminent."_

He cautiously stood up, stretched, and extended his claws. As he felt the long, sharp implements extend from his paws, he looked down at them, and allowed them to tap the ground quietly.

"_Cutting tool... used for killing. She used it successfully on the other one. These are neither as long or sharp as hers. Unacceptable weapons."_

The cub used his paws to feel his face... but shortly realized that the thought processes and senses of touch of a big cat were not well-adapted to allowing one to truly understand an object by touch alone.

He saw a puddle in the ground, not ten feet from him. Warily, he inched forward. His soft, padded appendages plodded across the wet soil of the Jungle's floor without making much noise at all. Plush, green leaves still lush from the recent rainfall seemed to beckon him into the deep forest with their wind-induced movements... but the cub ignored it all. He was curious about the puddle, and what it could be used for.

The cub was only a foot or so from the puddle, when suddenly, the leaves nearest to him _moved._

And not just a little, like the swaying that they'd been doing for hours. No, this time, they quite significantly shook. As the plant rustled about, the cub prepared to fight.

He extended his claws, and imitated the aggressive sounds that he'd heard his mother make only moments before. But being a newborn... his 'roar' sounded like little more than the friendly 'mew' of a housecat.

The plant continued to shake about, and suddenly, two small lizards emerged from it. Paying no heed to the baby li-tigon, they went to the puddle and started to sip water from it using their tongues. The cub maintained his combat stance for another minute, then allowed it to fall.

"_Not presently imminent threats. No need for retaliatory action. No possible gain from combat... what are they doing?"_

The cub stepped closer, and looked as the two lizards dipped their tongues again and again into the puddle, carrying water to their thirsty mouths.

He was curious, so he tried to do the same.

It took him about ten minutes to get it perfect, but he was quickly drinking water naturally, manipulating the complex muscles of his tongue to draw the biggest amount of water from the puddle into his mouth as possible.

The lizards were long gone by then, but the cub didn't care. The water felt helpful, and did him wonders after a very tough day. After all, it's not every newborn that can survive the determined assault of his mother and make the situation work for him.

He yawned. The cub wanted to plop down and sleep then and there, but knew that was unacceptable.

"_Smell of flesh will attract predators. Must leave, and find acceptable shelter."_

He was about to walk into the Jungle, when a step into the puddle made him look down, towards his reflection.

The li-tigon jumped, and splash back into the water. He growled at the other cub in the water, but after a tense minute, understood that his movements were imitated too perfectly. He lowered his guard, and the other cub did the same. He raised it again, and the other cub did the same.

"_... not a threat... unknown entity."_

He whacked the puddle with his paw, watching the water splatter around.

"_Not capable of being harmed..."_

Suddenly, the cub was light up as the moon came out from a cover of clouds. The blast of white light surprised the li-tigon, and he looked to the sky. It was a full-moon that day, so the entire pale face of the satellite was looking down back at him.

"_Different source of light from earlier... not source of heat. Finding shelter is still necessary."_

He was about to move on, but looked at the puddle again. There he was, with his distinctive stripes and everything. The triangular scar over his eye was clearly visible; one might even argue that it was illuminated by the moon.

"_...unknown entity is a... representation... of me. Incapable of becoming a threat or food. Useful for weapons assessment."_

The cub flexed his claws, muscles, and his jaws. He was disappointed. In comparison to his mother, he had almost nothing. Weak jaws; fragile, bendy claws; and no muscle adorned his rugged frame. Yet.

"_After shelter is secured and rest taken... must find out how to get food and information. I know little of this... place."_

Finally, the cub strode of into the Jungle, with a laudable air of bravado.

Moments later, he was hopelessly lost

* * *

"_Must not enter large, complicated areas without good landmarks or some frame of reference. Leads to confusion and loss of direction, which leads to loss of original goal and forces the seeking of intermediate goals. Inefficient."_

He paused, catching his breath, and looked around. Each tall, forbidding tree looked just as gloomy as the next, and there really was nothing that the cub could use to get his bearings. Worst of all, the moon had gone back in, giving him no light to work with. Now the sounds of the night were coming out.

Strange croaks of treefrogs, ominous cries from monkeys, and too-loud clattering from the ubiquitous feet of freakishly large centipedes. The li-tigon watched as a centipede crossed his path. It was at least four or five inches long, brightly colored and with horrible, twitchy feelers. The cub felt a sense of disgust, and for no apparent reason at all, severed the gross critter's head.

As the decapitated being flopped around on the unforgiving floor of the Jungle, the cub's eyes and nostrils burned from the acrid scent of venom released by the centipede's natural defense mechanism.

He ran for a good twenty yards, before hopping behind a log and rubbing his eyes and snout.

"_Do not attack entities unless they are threatening. Unintended consequence may result. Avoid combat when possible. It's better to live in the shadows, watching as things go along around me. At least, until I'm strong enough."_

He finished smearing the disgusting substance away from where it hurt him the most, and stood up to see where his feet had taken him.

It was a quieter part of the jungle, and one could tell that fewer animals lived there. No hoots of monkeys were heard, and even the occasional scream of a successful hunt was inaudible to the cub. There were also fewer insects, and the cub could smell nothing that he had not yet encountered.

Out of curiosity, the li-tigon hopped onto the log. He flexed his weight for a second, but suddenly, the thing caved in. He jumped to his feet inside the hollow structure, but soon calmed down. It was silent in the log, and warm. The bark and moss on the wood insulated it from the elements, and there were no unwanted pests present.

"_Acceptable shelter. I cannot live in it forever. But until I grow... it will be good."_

The cub settled down into a particularly mossy spot, and heard as well as felt his stomach growl.

"_Still must acquire food."_

His stomach growled again.

"_High priority."_

Then, all was silent again, as the only li-tigon in the world started to go to sleep. He dreamed neither of his dead mother and sister, nor of the repulsive act that he'd done in order to live. Instead, the cub dreamed of reflections.

* * *

INTERMISSION: FLASBACK TO CHUKIZO AND TAKA'S FIRST DAY TOGETHER 

The tigon and her new mate, the dark lion of the Pride Lands, Scar, or Taka, as friends called him, were relaxing in the cove. They were resting next to each other, each content to think and revel in the other heart beating along with theirs.

"_He really is a great lion... why does his brother not see this? Is he not worthy of kingship?"_

"_No... he's totally capable of being a great king. But as with me... others have conspired against him to make his time on this Earth a living Hell. It is not of his making that he will never be king. It is the fault of every being that denies him the chance to shine."_

"_Such beings neither deserve the chance to prove themselves or the right to live."_

"_It is cruel. But life is cruel. And till now, I've gotten nowhere by trying to evade that cold fact. But things are going to change now. In a cruel world, sometimes one has to be cruel to do the right thing."_

"_It is morally sound, and it is for the good of all that deserve kindness. And that's few beings enough. The only being that I know of that deserves kindness is this lion at my side: the only being that matters in this world."_

"Taka... are you awake?" she tentatively asked, nudging him with her paw.

The dark lion yawned, stretched, then turned around to look at Chukizo with his unique yellow and green eyes, that seemed to see through everything.

"Always for you, my little abomination."

The tigon blushed. He'd taken to calling her that... during the mating session really, and it stuck. After all, the most effective way of removing the sting of an insult is to turn it into something positive. And from the way that the lion was looking at her, the way that his eyes shone when they met hers, Chukizo knew that he was only positive.

"Taka... why will your brother not allow you to be the king, at least for some time? Can't he see that you are the greatest lion that I've ever—**ever**?"

The dark brother of Mufasa's expression darkened from content idleness to accepting sorrow. He looked away, as the tigon allowed a genuine tear to fall to the floor of the cove.

"I... he sees at as his birthright to be King, you know. And I will never deny that he is a good lion, a very good King, though his role as a brother leaves something to be desired..."

"I have no answers for you, my love. All I can ask... is that we run far from the Pride Lands—far from the name-calling and the judgments, the hate and the prejudice."

Taka's eyes took on an ethereal-like shine, as he recounted a brief, romantic, and probably smart plan to get away from any other pride of lions, and start anew in a land untainted by sins of other beings.

But he abruptly stopped as he saw Chukizo was crying softly.

"Taka... you know that we can't run forever. The past always catches up with you, and there is no place on this Earth that others will not judge and hate you from the minute that they see you. All that can be hoped for is a position in which the desire in others to despise and detest you is outweighed by their fear of what might happen to anyone who molests the family of Taka: the greatest Lion King ever."

The dark lion was shaken by the tigon's revolutionary words. A little scarred, a lot interested, and a little doubtful.

"But... Chukizo... Mufasa will never allow me to be King. How can I put us into a place where we will not be hated for who we are?

The tigon closed her eyes. She had been fluent in the language of combat since practically her first steps, and was not a stranger to doing things that were regrettable: necessary, but regrettable.

"There is only one way. We must kill Mufasa. And Simba, since he has been selected as the future King."

The dark lion leaped from his position, a fire in his eyes. He might have smacked the tigon for merely suggesting that, but was held back by the fact that he really did love her.

"No, I won't do it! Whatever else he may be, he's my brother! And the child! **He**, at least, is innocent. How could one so young be blamed for the misdeeds of his father?"

Chukizo didn't open her eyes, and allowed another tear, this one not quite as genuine as her previous ones to fall. Taka was touched: whatever else he was, he hated to see another creature suffer. Especially one he cared about so much.

"My love... I cannot bear the sight of your tears. But what you say is impossible. I'm no murderer, and I do not desire the throne so much that I would end the life of my own brother."

The tigon opened her eyes up, and this time, they were the firey ones.

"And,_Scar_, do brothers hurt each other for sharing an interest in a female? Do brothers ignore the love given to them unconditionally by siblings? Do brothers never care to allow the people that have been by their sides the longest their time in the sun? Do brothers—"

"Chukizo... please," Taka begged, "don't say these things. I know that they're not the best beings alive... but they're still my family. You can't expect me to hurt them."

Chukizo calmed down, but lost none of her resolve. Couldn't Taka see that what she was saying was the only way?

"Taka, you know that your so-called family is worse than that. Your nephew... he'll grow up to hate and despise you. And your brother, even on his deathbed, will never do a thing to bring you happiness. You know what I'm saying is true."

"Y... yes, but—"

"No, Taka. There can be no reluctance. You have to do what's necessary to bring the Circle of Life back into order. Mufasa, he may be a good King. And Simba might become a good one as well. But only a being that's gone through true pain can understand the value of peace, safety, and life. You are that being, my mate."

Taka couldn't say anything else. What Chukizo had said was true, every word of it. True; so cold, ruthless, but true. Nothing could justify in one's soul the horible crime of killing one's own flesh and blood for power, even with the best of intentions.

"_No,"_ thought Scar, _"they are not my flesh and blood. They're not my family. Family doesn't hurt and scar you, destroy your every hope and aspiration without caring. Family doesn't actively try to make you unhappy, family cares if you run off, promising to never return..."_

The tigon looked at her mate, as he seemed to start to understand her words. It was hard, of course, to force someone to see the Hellish situation that they're in; and worse to watch their soul twist and spiral down a path of righteous darkness.

"Chukizo... you are... right. We have to do what's necessary. You will never be accepted by the rest of the pride, not until they're nearly dead; this much we both know."

The tigon grimly nodded, as Taka continued.

"I know that we will do what is best for all... but I can never feel that what I have to do is moral. Hence, from now and ever on, I will be Scar."

The dark lion's posture and composure broke, and he started to cry. Chukizo went to try to comfort him, not even comforted herself that such catharsis was necessary. In that rocky cove, under the cover of stars in the Jungle, the Scar's heart forever and irrepairably broke.

* * *

The cub woke up in the morning, to ravenous hunger. Though he'd drank as much of his mother's milk that he could, he still needed plenty of nourishment. But being such a young cub, he had a rather poor memory. He could only remember bits and pieces of his life the previous day, little of his mother and sister. But he did manage to remember that females gave milk: milk that he desperately needed. 

He stood up, and yawned. Sunlight leaked into his log, lighting up his path to the outside. As he approached the caved-in portion of the log, however, he heard two voices.

"Hey... at least that cursed abomination's gone. They say that she died in chilbirth, and that she killed her own daughter."

"Even so... no punishment that this world can produce could possibly be enough to equal the crime that she did when she killed our son," rasped a higher-pitched voice.

The cub could not understand them much, but he still listened. He knew that it was vital to know as much as he could about the world he was about to step into.

"_Abomination... unknown term. No imminent necessity to understand. Must continue to listen; information about female with milk may appear."_

Of course, he did not think in such complex terms, per se, but what his little mind was pondering can only be translated to such a sentence. The speaking continued.

"I know, dear wife. But at least we know that next time, our young ones will live in a world with less danger."

"Next time... NEXT TIME?!"

The high-pitched voice suddenly shouted, sending birds to the sky for at least a hundred yards. Even protected inside the log, the li-tigon felt threatened, and extended his claws.

"Husband, do you know—can you even imagine the pain that I've had to go through twice now? And each time, to watch as my hard work is annulled? I know that you have to bury our son, just last night... but what you went through cannot compare to what I had to. Look: my breasts are still full of milk, but who will drink it now?"

The cub's eyes opened wide at that comment, and he jumped out of his log. The two monkeys in the tree looked in horror as he made a cub-roar and scampered up to them, far too fast to be dodged or avoided.

"_Milk is necessary for survival. Must have it."_

Unfortunately for the female monkey, the li-tigon thought that milk was only attainable from a dead mother. So, as the two monkeys tried to run, he pounced about the female, and, using the terrible life-ending move that his mother had attempted on him, cut her across the neck.

Blood flowed freely from her wound, and she hardly had time to whimper. Little, red droplets spilled from the tree, staining the jungle floor below. But the male was already way gone. He had see the cub kill his wife, and knew that there was nothing to be gained from fighting. Even killing the cub in vengeance was impossible for him, especially in his emotionally-distraught state.

He swung through the trees, fighting back tears. The middle-aged monkey stopped on one vine, and turned. He vomited at the sight of the cub feeding on the milk of his dead wife. But then, as quickly as he could, he collected himself and continued to flee.

"One day," he shouted "I will have revenge! You and your mother killed my wife, and one of my children. I swear it, I shall have revenge. One day. Curse you, Chukizo, abomination! And curse you, son of Chukizo, second-generation freak! I will never forget you, and one day... I _will_ have my revenge."

The cub could hear the shouts of the monkey, but ignored them. He was too far away to pursue, and the cub didn't want to get lost again. He just continued to feed on the monkey's milk. It didn't taste nearly as good as his mother's... but it would keep him alive. Barely.

"_Male monkey is another threat. A more determined one. Must eliminate if given the chance. Must live... day by day. Can never allow an opportunity for another to kill me. Must live."_

The cub continued to feed, as blood from the monkey continued to spill to the ground. He cared not about the spilling of blood. It was what he was born to, and that's all he knew how to do.

"_Must live."_

* * *

The cub got up from the monkey. He'd exhausted her reserves of milk, and being that she was far healthier than his mother had been, there was more to be had. He would be able to stave off starvation for over a day, at least. So now, with his stomach full and no threats present, he had time to think. The newborn nimbly hopped down from the tree, and went back into his log. Home, for now at least. 

He thought about both monkeys's words, at first, turning them over again and again in his head.

"_Pain... means hurt. Leads to death. Pain must be avoided. No need to cause other creatures pain without reason. Takes energy to cause pain. Wasteful."_

"_Abomination. I am son of abomination. What is son? What is abomination?"_

The cub thought as hard as he could, knowing that his first day alive had something to do with both. But try as he might, he could only capture glimpses of a female tigon from his memory. And... the cove of his birth.

"_Abomination... was monkey referring to her? ...Unknown. Must investigate, when given opportunity. I am not strong enough to survive wandering in jungle. Dangerous: causes pain, leads to death."_

"_What is freak?"_

"_...Monkey was referring to me. I killed other monkey. He did not like it. Reason... unknown. Death is necessary. I did not try to kill him. He has no reason to want to kill me."_

"_But everyone is a threat. Like everyone,he will try to kill me. But he will try more. Reason still unknown. Must avoid monkeys till I can easily kill them. Fighting with two monkeys is dangerous."_

"_What is freak? Why am I called freak? Is it related to abomination?"_

"_...I am freak.. Reason unknown. Good means of identification. But no one may know of my existence right now: I am still not strong enough. Must become strong. Then others can know who I am. I am freak."_

The cub paused. Thinking so much had made his head, and he was still a baby. He needed his rest, but he wanted to try something first. He'd seen, from his mount in the tree, the monkey speaking. Now, he was curious, and wanted to imitate it.

He pulled his lips apart, and opened his muzzle a little. Speaking was like roaring, an action that was already natural to him. At first, he could only mewl. He hated that sound. It was pathetic, and weak. But after a few more tries, he managed to imitate speech.

"F...f...fr... fre... fre... fre... freak. Freak. Freak. I... I am... I am Freak. I am Freak."

The cub promptly stopped, knowing that making noise was a good way to attract others. And others were threats, all of them, some greater than others.

"_I am not strong. Still baby. But not forever. Will become strong. Will not be killed. Will live."_

The cub finally settled down into his moss bed.

"I will live."

* * *

Months passed. 

Each day, the cub had grown bigger and bigger. Each day, he'd had to find and kill another female for her milk. By staying in his section of the Jungle, he'd managed to avoid most animals capable of harming him. More than once, he'd fought with big lizards and birds, and had been injured a fair few times. But he'd always won. He'd always killed his opponent using the minimum force necessary, taking neither pleasure nor distaste in their death's. Sometimes, he'd watched their harts beat their last, and their blood paint the Jungle a shade of gruesome red. He was a feline after all, and a curious feline to boot.

But all f his physical achievements did not compare to his mental ones. He was _smart_. And not just for a cub: he'd watched other animals for hours each day, every minute picking up some tidbit of information or the ability to imitate some skill. He knew how to cut open plants and get fresh water from them. He knew that some insects caused pain, and some were harmless. He knew that not all animals acted the same way. He finally found out, by watching a mother lemur feed her baby, that milk needed not be taken from a dead female... except for in his case.

* * *

It was several weeks ago. Freak had seen the lemur baby feed from his mother, as she still lived. Watching the action confused him greatly, as did the mother's soft cooing and tender motions. 

"_Does she like it? Doesn't it cause pain? Why does he not kill her? What is she doing with her fingers?"_

"_Do I have to kill to get milk? Can I... ask? Even though she's with her child... maybe she will let me."_

It went against every fiber of his being, and especially his adopted motto: Everyone is a threat. But he did not like to 'cause pain' as he put it, so the cub gathered himself and slowly walked towards the lemur. He'd learned to speak fairly well by now, and though his voice was still raspy from a lack of use, he could be understood.

When the mother saw him, she predictably held her baby away, and looked for an escape. But the cub had planned well: there was none. So, as he inexorably got closer, the lemur stood as tall as she could and shouted, trying to be as threatening as possible.

"Get out of here, you freak! Go away!"

The cub still approached, knowing that she couldn't easily kill him. He stopped several feet from her, and looked at her. She flinched from his emotionless stare, and backed away in fear.

"What do you want, son of Chukizo, the abomination?"

The li-tigon blinked in confusion. He didn't know a thing about his mother, the few glimpses that he still had of her were well away from the surface of his mind.

"How do you know my name? And who is Chukizo?"

Now it was the lemur's turn to be confused.

"Your name... is Freak?"

The cub nodded. The lemur's son, coincidentally, just about the same age as him, peeked out from behind his mother. He looked at the other young being, with curiosity in his eyes.

"Chukizo... she's your mother. Nobody knows who your father is."

There was a pause, as Freak struggled to understand the lemur.

"I don't understand... what is a mother and father?"

The lemur looked shocked. She'd heard whispers, of course, that Chukizo had killed her daughter before dying as a result of childbirth... but never had she imagined that her rumored son wouldn't eve know what parents were. Like the rest of the denizens of the Jungle, she assumed that his father had taken custody of him, or his mother had allowed him to live.

"A mother... is what I am, to this little one here."

Ignoring her prey instincts, the lemur held out her child. The male lemur giggled at the sight of the li-tigon, and Freak just stared back, confused.

"A father," the mother lemure continued, as she held her baby more stably, "is like a mother... but a male. Who is your father?" she questioned, curious.

"I... don't know. I didn't know that Chukizo was my mother. Where is she? Can I meet her?"

He wanted to see someone like him, but not for a moment did he imagine that she wouldn't be a threat.

"I'm sorry, Freak. She died, a few months ago. They say that her bones are still in the cave north of here, but it's a long trip... unless you want to go through the Dark Zone."

"What is the Dark Zone?"

The lemur shuddered at the mention of that area.

"It's a terrible place... I lost my mate there, this little one's father," she wiped away a tear, "only a few days ago. I couldn't even see what got him. He was just there one minute, and gone the next. Many animals travel through there safely... but every once in a while, one disappears without a trace. You can never feel safe there, not even for a second."

"I... am not yet strong enough to go through there safely. I will travel to the cave... some day."

The lemur nodded. Here she was, having a conversation with a predator: a predator whose mother had been personally responsible for the deaths of many lemurs. And she was actually feeling sympathetic for him. He had no family at all, and must have had to teach himself to survive in a brutal world. How terrible it must have been for him, to grow up in such a cruel position.

"You poor thing."

The li-tigon didn't respond. He just sat there, looking at the lemurs curiously, managing to have an air of cubhood and barely concealed danger at the same time.

"Can I drink your milk? I am not strong enough to eat meat yet. I need milk. Can you help me?"

The lemur shuddered. She might talk to the cub, sure, but to have him suckle at her, at the expense of her child? No, that was going too far.

"Certainly not!" she shouted, and several birds from the tree flew skyward.

The cub took a visible step back, as his eyes widened. He'd hoped, for a minute, that another being might do something for him... but that's not what was going to happen. It just went to show, everyone was a threat. Nevertheless, he tried one more time.

"Please," he rasped, unknowingly sounding absolutely pathetic, "I'll die if I don't have milk."

The lemur sighed, but lost none of her resolve.

"Well, sorry, little Freak, but that's not my concern. Life is cruel."

The li-tigon looked at the tree branch that he was standing on. How hard he'd tried to not cause pain, but how much life had shown him that causing pain was the only way to live. He stumbled around, using a monkey's technique that he'd observed to be used to confuse one's enemy. The lemur reacted perfectly, reverting to motherly concern.

"Hey, are you o--"

The cub suddenly roared, and the lemur screamed as he jumped at her. Quicker than blinking, he sliced her throat wide open. She gasped for air through her own blood, but knew that she was dead... and that her child would not live much longer either.

Her final act was to spit some of her own blood into Freak's face, before she fell, allowing the young lemur to shriek and tumble to the ground, cracking his head open on a rock.

The li-tigon merely licked the blood off of his face, noting that it was getting more and more palatable, while milk was getting more and more harder to swallow. He'd need to have meat in lieu of milk, very soon. But not today.

Freak waded right through the blood-stained tree branch, and flipped the lemur over onto her back. Then, after shutting her hateful eyes with his paw, he fed on her milk as he'd always done.

"_Everyone is a threat."_

* * *

Freak was getting too big for his log. He could still enter and exit it comfortably, but knew that wouldn't last forever. Worse... he was about to lose another constant in his life: he was no longer a newborn, though still a cub by any comparison. He needed meat. 

"_I will try to hunt today. I have watched many animals hunt, and I feel like it's natural for me. I will be successful. It will not be hard: I have killed many animals before. But I need to be able to hunt successfully. I will hunt and eat meat. I will grow. And then... I will go through the Dark Zone of the Jungle. I will not allow myself to die. I will use the cave as shelter. And... I will see what is left of my mother."_

The cub settled in a treetop, as he slowly made his way to a lone female monkey. She was young and small, but perfectly-sized for a cub-sized meal. He traveled in a direction perpendicular to her path. The monkey was moving faster now, she seemed to be aware that the lack of a guardian was dangerous. That, or she could feel Freak's hungry eyes watching her.

She jumped out of a tree, and as she was clear of foliage, perfectly in the mid-point of her leap, the li-tigon chose then to make his move.

He roared, and moved faster than he ever had before. Time seemed to slow down as he kicked his tree and flew through the air, each millisecond getting closer and closer to the monkey. He held his paws in front of him, and extended his claws. The monkey managed to turn to face him, and shriek. He never heard what she said, as he lashed out—

* * *

(Wow, that was longer than I expected. Anyway, hope you enjoyed it. I will get another chapter up some day, I think it will focus on the Dark Zone and Freak's return to the cave. I might even go as far as to the too-quick ending to his cubhood. And don't worry: this is a Lion King fanfic after all, I will have more than just Scar/Taka make an appearance. I will probably even center the remainder of the story after the end of Simba's Pride, since by my count Freak is at least two months younger than Kovu and Kiara. Look forward to it! As always, anything you have to say is welcome. I am going to ask tearthgrrl, a great Lion King fanfic author for permission to use some of her OCs, though at this time I do not know how they will be put into the story. Meh, we'll have to see what happens. How did I manage to write all this in four hours? Anyway, see you next chapter, and remember, anything that you have to say is welcome. That's it for now, al-Mujahid out.) 


	3. I Will Find a Reason

The Lion King: The Freak  
Chapter 3: I Will Find a Reason

* * *

(Kovukono, I do not know what Ender's Game is but thanks. I may well have someone TRY, emphasis on try, to get close to him several chapters down the road. But it will not turn out nice, at least not at first. Probably not ever. Remember, my goal in an angst-themed fanfic is to make the reader physically cringe when reading it, so I can't have any mushy-gushy romance, not without a load of pain and anger first.

Also, I don't think that Freak has a problem with causing pain. It's more that he doesn't really understand what it is and why it hurts. Fear of the unknown if you will, rather than flat-out distaste for pain itself. In fact I did say that when he fought off other predators, he felt neither distaste nor pleasure in their deaths. I think he just knows on an instinctual level that hurting others for no reason is wrong, but he has never had anyone tell him why. He's pretty much emotionless; doesn't mean that he has no morals. But hey, thanks for an idea on what to write about for this chapter.

Jagabor's original character, Kivuli of the Bloody Shadows, will be alluded to here. Unfortunately, by the time this fanfic takes place, he would have been long dead. He was already quite old when Taka was a cub, and by my count, even his son, Usiku of the Bloody Shadows would by now be around middle-aged.)

* * *

The cub's claws arced through the air, in opposing directions. His right set of natural blades tore through the monkey's jugular and trachea like they were nothing, and the others stuck in her throat and came out after a second, bringing a whole mess of ganglia with them. Blood spewed from the wound, dying the leaves on either end of the monkey's jump a gruesome shade of mauve.

Freak grabbed the monkey's head in his jaws, and crushed it, still in midair. His paws hit the ground, along with bits of bone, brain, and more blood. A second latter, he opened his jaws, allowing the monkey's limp body to fall to the Jungle floor. Her eyes were still wide open.

He was breathing heavily. It was not from the exertion of the task, as he'd forced himself through a tough training regimen in preparation for his first hunt. But it was the first time he'd killed in an act of predation: the other times, he'd only done it to take the milk of an animal. But this time it was different.

Freak looked at the monkey, but didn't shudder. With his paw, he shut her eyes, then started to eat her flesh.

"_Why do I always do that?"_ he thought, rearing his head back to swallow a hunk of muscle.

"_It's not like it's saving her any pain. And causing more pain than necessary is dangerous: it distracts me from my goals, and takes my attention away from other, more serious threats."_

"_Closing her eyes doesn't change anything. She's dead."_

Half an hour later, Freak walked alone through the Jungle. He'd eaten the monkey down to almost nothing, using as much of her as he possibly could. No drop of blood had gone without being licked up, no shred of flesh unconsumed, no bone left with marrow stuck inside.

"_Being wasteful is not smart. Nothing is certain: I don't know if there will be a meal tomorrow, or if there will even _be_ a tomorrow."_

He was still a cub. Still far from being a full-grown lion. But he was incredibly tough: maybe even already capable of taking down a full-grown hyena in a one-on-one fight. Such prowess did not come without a price, however. He was adorned with many scars, some small and transient, some more permanent. Though the one on his eye had healed completely long ago, it had never disappeared. Each of the cub's injuries had a story behind it.

* * *

He was five weeks old at the time, and he'd just killed off a mother monkey to drink her milk. Predictably, the father had taken the child and put it higher in the tree, out of Freak's reach, and then attacked the small li-tigon. But by now, he was used to it. He had no idea why, but each time he killed one being out of a group, the rest turned on him. So rather than waiting for the lanky male to put his fists up, Freak cut his gut open before he could react.

The cub felt neither regret nor remorse towards the action; after all, the monkey was clearly in between him and life. And though he still didn't know why, he knew that he wanted to live. He felt nothing as he looked up at the baby monkey higher in the tree, way out of his reach.

"_Not a threat, not a milk source."_

He ignored the younger being's cries as he drank from his mother. Suddenly, the cries stopped abruptly, and the cub heard a gruesome _splat_ from the Jungle floor. He got up from the monkey, and looked down. The baby monkey had fallen, and was... broken... on the roots of the tree and some other plants. Still, the cub felt nothing, and he turned back to the female monkey.

Suddenly, he heard the softest fluttering of wings, and threw himself to the side, nearly jumping of the tree. At the last second, he dug his claws into the trunk, pulled himself upwards, and scampered to a higher branch. Then, he turned his attention to his would-be assailant.

It was a large, sooty-looking vulture with horrible, bloodshot eyes, a curved, yellow beak, and steely black talons. The avian yanked his talons out of the tree, and looked at Freak with malice.

The cub was confused.

"Why are you trying to kill me? Meat is there," he said, nodding towards the male monkey's body.

The vulture looked at it, and laughed, squawking as he did.

"I ain't gonna eat that crap," he said, and spat at the still-warm corpse.

"I love to hunt and kill. I love the feeling of warm blood on my talons and beak, and to watch the last, futile struggles of my prey as they breathe their last. I love fresh MEAT!"

On the last word, the vulture crowed and flew towards Freak, its talons outstretched. Thinking quickly, the cub dropped into a low defensive stance, tensed his muscles, and as the bird closed, he jumped high into the air. The vulture's talons drove hopelessly below him, but the beak was still a threat. The curved, bony mouth open, and Freak was hit in the face with a blast of foul-smelling air. But he kept cool, and smack the bird's head with his diminutive paw, as he didn't have time to extend his claws and remove the attacker's eyes.

The cub flipped over the bird as he squawked in pain, and landed on the branch. Freak hit the treetop and spun around, knowing that he couldn't possibly run away and give the vulture a shot at his back and neck. But now... he was at a disadvantage: the bird had the high ground. Worse, he hadn't dodged the talons as completely as he thought. Though his torso and head remained unharmed, his tail had a long, deep cut in it, and hurt terribly. Freak flinched in pain, but still refused to look away.

"_Must protect _all_ of body in the future. Blood loss will kill me as surely as anything else."_

And he also knew now that other creatures couldn't be trusted to be reasonable or take present meals. This apparent lack of reason and logic confused him as much as the desire for one being to protect another, but the vulture had attacked him. He wasn't going to waste any energy or thought into talking again. Instead, he went on the offensive.

He gave the most intimidating roar he could, noticing that it was bit by bit getting louder and scarier. He extended his claws, and raced up the side of the tree. When he was about a foot higher than the vulture, he quickly jumped off and twisted around in midair, facing the vulture, claws aimed straight for his neck—

But for all his other flaws, the bird was not stupid. He saw the attack coming, and responded quickly. Being a bipedal, he could not use his talons to attack when he wasn't flying. But he still had his beak.

Suddenly, the bird thrust out his wings to the side and crowed again, looking a thousand times as evil and intimidating than the cub had a second earlier. Dust and feathers flew everywhere, but Freak lost none of his resolve, and pressed the attack.

However, the vulture's movement with his wings was as much to scare the cub as to prepare a counterattack of his own. He leaped up, gaining just enough velocity to fly horizontally, and grabbed Freak by the shoulder and chest in his scissor-like beak.

The cub mewled in pain as white-hot pain filled his torso. But he managed to regain control of himself after a second. His right upper limb was pinned, immobile, and Freak dared not move it for fear of injuring it further. And though his chest felt like it was being branded, he could tell that the wound was far from mortal. But the problem was, now he was fifty feet in the air, and rising. He'd have to kill the vulture quick to have a hope of surviving the fall.

With his left arm, Freak struck blow after blow towards the vulture's face. He claws clashed against the bird's beak, scratching it, even creating a long puncture once. And though the avian flinched and shuddered, he held his beak clamped shut. The cub was still too small to reach the face or eyes of the bird, and he was still rising inexorably higher into the air.

Though Freak had only ever used his forelimbs to strike the fatal throat-cutting move that his mother had shown him, he improvised. He had to.

The li-tigon cub flexed his abdominal muscles, and curled up. Then he lashed his feet sideways, extending their claws as they tore through the thinning air. Suddenly, the vulture's eyes widened, and he gurgled blood onto Freak. The cub's head flopped to the side a little, and he could see that he'd cut the bird's throat apart; at least five deep cuts across the jugular. The vulture managed to flap uselessly for another second or so. Then, the two stopped.

One hundred feet in the air, bleeding from the tail, shoulder, and chest, and the cub began to fall.

Worse, he was still trapped in the vulture's beak, so he couldn't hope to cling on to some branch to break his fall. He struggled to turn around or get free, but it was useless. He was still trapped, and the treetops were getting closer. Freak closed his eyes, waiting for death to take him at last..

"_I must live."_

The cub forced his eyes to open, and worked harder than ever to live on. But this time, he didn't try to free himself of the bird's mandibles. He knew that the harder and harder he tried to pull away from them, the more they dug in. So, instead of trying to turn himself about, he turned the much larger bird about, so that it would hit first.

The ground was now only ten feet away, so Freak put himself over the bird's lower ribs, and braced for impact.

A bird's bones are very interesting creations. They must be super-light, but still capable of holding a shape. Hence, rather than than being solid, they are hollow.

When Freak and the bird hit the ground, the cub heard a thousand tiny cracks as he pressed up against the vulture, probably liquefying half of its gizzards as he did. After what felt like a long time, he rolled over to his back, and as black, sooty feathers fell all around him, he knew that he was alive. He slowly got up, and dusted himself off.

The cub turned around, and looked at the vulture. A horrible reek was emanating from it, and liquids were already pooling at the side of his open beak. The bird's bloodshot eyes were still wide open, and flies were arriving, starting to eat away at their retinas.

This time, Freak didn't close his enemy's eyes. He just turned and walked away, climbing back up into the tree of his kill to drink his milk.

* * *

"_Closing _his_ eyes wouldn't have changed anything, either. But somehow... it felt satisfying to not give such an illogical being a peaceful appearance in death."_

"_Maybe that's why I do it. Maybe because although I have to cause pain to live, it makes other beings look peaceful when I close their eyes."_

"_But why do I do it? It doesn't change anything."_

The cub shrugged. He'd had enough thinking for one day. Freak arrived at his log, and leaped into it for the last time. His belly and sides scraped the edges of the hole, and if he made the opening any larger, it would allow rain and any other predator to enter without giving him a moment's notice.

"_Tomorrow, I'll find new shelter. Something bigger, and closer to the Dark Zone."_

"_I'm getting bigger, and I can hunt. I'm big enough to kill any creature that I've met so far, and whatever it is that's in the Dark Zone can't be much bigger than I am, to be able to kill and leave without being seen."_

"_But whatever is out there... is still a very big threat. It must be extremely dangerous, capable of dealing out incredible amounts of pain. I will watch the area... for as long as it takes. I need to see at least a glimpse of what's there before I make my move. I want to kill it—I need to know that after staying alive for this long, that I'm strong, and not just lucky."_

"_After all, everyone is a threat."_

* * *

Freak woke up bright and early the next day, by lion standards. He got out of his log before stretching, knowing that attempting to do so in the confined space would probably break it open. Despite the fact that he was no longer going to live there, the cub had no affinity for destruction, so he left it be.

He was still reasonably full from the monkey, so he didn't need to hunt. If he saw a good opportunity to catch a snack, he'd take it, of course, but he wouldn't require another big kill for another day or so. So, he had the whole day to devote to searching for a new home.

Through listening in on many conversations, generally between prey animals, he had a general idea of where the Dark Zone was. It was to the north of his present location, in fact, closer to the Pride Lands, but the cub had not even heard a whisper of that place. Not yet, anyway. But after piecing together all the rumors he'd heard about the much-feared Dark Zone... he'd deduced that he'd gone straight through it on his first night alive.

"_That was luck. But I can't rely on luck, or anything else. All that can be relied on is what I control."_

So Freak sauntered up as far north as he'd ever been since finding the log. He took his time, but kept out of the general view of the Jungle: he was, after all still a cub, and knew that secrecy was to his benefit. The time that he could finally come out of the shadows was a time that he neither anticipated nor dreaded: it could come tomorrow, it could never come. As long as he lived, he wouldn't care.

The problem was, the cub had used that log because it was the only conceivable home for him in that entire sector of the Jungle. The southern part, where he'd spent the majority of his life so far, was isolated from the rest of the Jungle by the narrow band that comprised the Dark Zone. To the east and west were high, rocky volcanic mountains that stretched outwards for miles. Not easily passable by a lion or any animal that couldn't travel far eating little. To the south was a delta of rivers and a waterfall that Freak had never been to. They were nearly impossible to cross, but a very determined, very small being could do it.

* * *

Chukizo panted. The lionesses were closing in.

They'd told her that she had until dusk to get out, but the Sun still had a full twenty degrees in the sky before it crossed over the horizon. The small tigon didn't consider for a second reminding them that, though. The determined, steely-eyed glances they kept giving each other left no doubt in her mind that they'd forget their original demands the second they caught her.

She didn't plan on giving them that chance.

But she was still just a cub. Though she'd gotten as far north as she possible could, she was just now reaching the watery delta at the northernmost part of her former pride's territory. She'd seen the waterfall from afar, and set that as her destination. She'd lived a lifetime without much water, and knew that alone, such a commodity would be far harder to come by.

Though she had been raised as a lion, she knew that her tiger blood would allow for survival in the rumored Jungle. Her father had supposedly come from the south, from some strange forest that was supposedly isolated from the desert.

Apparently not.

But that was the last thing on Chukizo's mind. She scrambled up the sheer rock face as fast as she could, knowing that the much larger lionesses would be hard-pressed to follow her up. On the downside, though, she was completely exposed.

"There she is!"

The tigon heard a lioness call out her position, and looked down to see the rest of the pride converge at the bottom of the cliff, only twenty feet down. A lion can jump, when properly motivated, up to twenty-five feet.

Chukizo climbed as fast as she could, but it was too late. The lionesses were already at the base of the cliff, and trying to climb up. The face of the cliff was just too sheer, however, and the one lioness that had managed to get all paws off the ground suddenly screamed and fell. So, the pride switched tactics. Now, they started jumping at the small tigon, swiping at her. Fortunately, she was just beyond their reach. Chukizo stopped on a small ledge, and took a breather. Big mistake.

She heard a roar, and foolishly looked down. This took her attention off her balance, and she fell, grabbing onto the ledge again with her front paws. But her rear was now in range of the lioness that had made a nearly impossible jump of twenty five feet, straight up.

Chukizo looked down, trying to see a place to dig her feet in to get up. But as she did, she saw a terrible sight. There was her mother, with nothing but pure hate in her eyes, coming towards her, fast, claws extended and snarling. The tigon gasped in fear, and tried to get back onto the ledge—

But it was too late. Chukizo's mother got her claws a full centimeter into the tigon's upper back, and tore all the way down to her flanks. The small tigon screamed and mewled in pain, but managed to hold on, even as her mother's claws held onto her hide for a second, then cut free, dropping her on the ground.

Then, for the first time ever, the lioness spoke to Chukizo.

"How does it feel, daughter, to go through such pain? Imagine what you just felt, ten times as bad, and finding out later that you must deal with _cubs_," she spat, "from the experience. You think you suffered here... you didn't suffer for a second, compared to what I went through. Remember that, you FREAK!"

She screamed the last word, as blood slowly dribbled down from the tigon's form. She was hanging there, by the tips of her claws, on the ledge. She seemed dead, almost, totally limp and motionless. Then, she started to cry. Tears mingled with the blood from her wounds, and fell together to the feet of the lionesses.

"Mother... I'm so sorry that you had to go through that for me. I didn't mean to hurt you... please don't hate me any more. I'm sorry."

The tigon struggled for a minute, then managed to get back onto the ledge. But she didn't stop there. She kept climbing, and disappeared over the top of the cliff.

The head lioness of the pride, mother of Chukizo, glared at the retreating form until her tail flicked out of sight. She growled, then looked away.

"Come, sisters. We are finished for today. We will post guards here, to make sure that _she_ doesn't return. But I'm finished caring about that little abomination."

The lioness thought of the dangers of the Jungle, and knew that no lone lion would last there for long.

"She's dead to me."

* * *

Freak was frustrated. His search for suitable shelter had been completely fruitless. He knew, from eavesdropping, that the Jungle to the north, the part not isolated by the Dark Zone, was easily twenty times larger than where he was now. The Jungle didn't go so far north, but rather expanded east and west, to the very toes of the volcanic mountain ranges. Perfect hunting ground, far better than the south.

But there was still the small matter of the Dark Zone, and the fact that Freak needed to kill whatever predator lurked there. For his own peace of mind.

Now, he was on the very edges of the forbidding place itself. He could tell: there were few sentient beings around, and none bigger than he was at birth. The two sentient beings in the area, a monkey couple, were moving as quickly and quietly as possible. Why they'd chosen to go through the Dark Zone was a mystery to the li-tigon, but many things were. So he did what he always did: sat back, and watched. With a great deal of luck, the fabled predator of the Dark Zone would show itself.

Freak wasn't disappointed.

He was a predator, a top predator at that, and one that had spent his life watching and listening. His senses were honed as finely as any big cat's could ever be, and then some. From where he was, he could hear the soft sounds of the monkeys moving, despite their efforts to the contrary. But he also heard something else, on the very fringe of his auditory sense.

It was like a soft rustling, or flowing sound: kind of like water, but on land. Like a small stream, cutting its way through the Jungle. But Freak's senses told him that the stream, while extremely quiet, was extremely large. He only had a few seconds of hearing the sound, before it was quiet again, save for the monkeys.

He concentrated further, but couldn't hear the sound again. He just heard the monkeys, moving a little bit faster. They'd somehow sensed the impending danger, but that didn't save the one to the rear.

Freak's visual senses were as finely tuned as his others. He'd fought off the vulture due to the fact that he saw its attacks coming, and managed to counter them. But what the li-tigon saw next shocked him.

It was so fast that all he saw was a blur: a giant, long, camouflaged blur, that caught the male monkey without being noticed at all. It was visible for only a fraction of a second, then it was gone.

The female apparently noticed that her footsteps were the only ones, and slowly turned, as if she knew what she was going to see. There was not a bloodstain on the branch: her mate was just there one second, and gone the next, like so many other creatures that traveled through the Dark Zone.

She whispered his name a few times, but knew that he was gone forever. She cried, silently, while running as fast away from the area as she could. Freak didn't understand her, however. The predator had his meal, and seemed to be the kind that only killed when necessary. Sensible.

The li-tigon didn't move as the monkey passed only inches from his muzzle without her even knowing he was there. Freak wasn't hungry, but he was busy thinking about what he had just seen.

"_This is an ambush predator, like frog are. He waits until prey appears, then gets into a good position, and strikes with blinding speed. He must be very silent—that's why no one can tell when he's coming. I don't think that he can move that fast all the time, however. If he did, he'd need much more energy and the killings would be far more frequent. No... he slowly gets into position, and then strikes quickly once he's there."_

"_I'll have to practice in order to kill him. From what I saw... he could easily kill and eat me if I gave him the chance. I don't know exactly how big he is, or even what he really looks like. But I know that he's a very serious threat. I'll have to hunt him: I can't allow him for a second to think that I'm potential prey, not even as a trap. He moves too fast for that to be possible. I'll have to be the hunter: I can't use bait, he'll see through it. I can't hope to pin him into any part of the Jungle, he'll just strike once and slip away."_

"_There's only one way to do it: I'll have to sneak up on him. I'll have to pinpoint his location, and be even more of a shadow than he is. I'll have to find him, and land one serious hit. I'll have to injure him too much for him to be able to get away. Then, I can just follow the trail of blood to him, and end him. But I'll have to be extra careful after injuring him: he'll hide somewhere, and back himself into a corner so that he can strike at the only direction I can attack. He will escape my initial attack fast, that much I can count on. But what then? Can I run him to exhaustion? Or will he just stop, and make me back off?"_

"_...I don't know. And I think that he saw me. I can't hope to ever see him again without practicing... and if I do manage to see him again, I'll have to use that opportunity to kill him. I only have one shot at this."_

* * *

Freak listened on.

He'd been like this for two whole days now. He had neither eaten nor slept, nor allowed himself to drink the rainwater that was pooling at his feet, nor urinate. He'd chose the spot because so many creatures passed by it.

The li-tigon had gotten to it without being noticed by the practical treeful of monkeys, lemurs, and thousands of other small animals or insects. He hadn't been found by the keen-eyed birds, or the sensitive little lizards, or the curious monkeys.

Freak listened on.

He heard everything. His own heart beating, he had toned down by lifting his belly away from the floor when he really needed to listen. But when he put his ear back to the ground, he could hear everything in the tree. All of their hearts, their snores were like avalanches, the soft sounds of their fur shifting, he missed none of it. Not even a three inch lizard could lift a leg without his knowledge of it.

The li-tigon was now becoming part of the environment. Bark of the trees overhead flaked onto him, making him more invisible. Dirt from the ground splatted over his hide and fledgling mane due to the rain. Leaves from the shrubbery around him stuck to his body, plastered onto him by the mud. His own scent had been virtually eradicated from him, due to his hermitage.

He wasn't even hungry. He'd taken meat in preparation for the campout: a particularly large male monkey. The li-tigon hadn't killed him as quickly as he would normally; instead, he'd allow the primate to pummel and strike him, strengthening his body and learning to take a hit. Instead of striking fatal blows when he saw openings, he made long gashes along the animal's body, as he knew he'd have to with the Dark Zone predator. Finally, the monkey had collapsed out of exhaustion, and only then had Freak cut it across the throat. Just as he planned to do with whatever lurked in the Dark Zone.

To increase his speed, he'd taken advantage of some exotic plants he'd discovered in the Jungle. They were strange, with leaves shaped like jaws, and the slightest touch would snap them shut. Freak had seen them eat flies, but had never been able to see the jaws shut themselves. So, he'd tapped the leaves with his claw, setting them off, and then tried to move his claw out of the way quick enough. He'd been unsuccessful the first hundred times, but the next time, he'd done it. Then, he tried to set the trap off, then leap into the air. A hundred failures, one success. Then, he'd tried to set the trap off, jump into the air, and strike with his other paw. A hundred failures, one success. A long time later, he'd finally succeeded in his real goal: set the trap off, jump into the air, strike three times, and land in a good fighting stance, before the jaws shut.

But the cub kept his mind on the present. He got up, and quietly urinated into a tree. He'd need all his wits about him for the next few days, however long it took to encounter the Dark Zone's dark master. He couldn't afford to be distracted by any worthless bodily functions. He needed to be ready to fight at any second, and maintaining the highest level of attention for the whole time.

Freak quietly walked away, still gaining no attention from all the animals in the tree. The dark cat headed towards the even darker strip of the Jungle, with only the desire to hunt in his mind, and the weapons offered by his own body.

* * *

The li-tigon was still a cub. True, he was bigger, stronger, faster, and smarter than any other feline cub ever, but he was still a cub. He should have been frightened the second he stepped into the Dark Zone.

It was noticeably different there. In the southern tip of the Jungle, where Freak lived, animals lived and conversed freely. Even though now the rumors of a son of Chukizo were more rampant than ever, he was still a virtual legend, and for the most part, the denizens of the place did not concern themselves with the possibility of his existence. Sure, on or two of them might suddenly disappear now and again, leaving only bloodstains, bones, and fur. But it was the Jungle: death was as naturally a part of the Circle of Life as birth. Such losses were mourned, but quickly, forgotten. With only one, forgotten, but very serious exception.

In the Dark Zone, however, every sentient that dared step through it was fearful. The cub could smell it in their breathes, hear it in the shivering of their bones, and taste it in the air. It didn't get to him, however. He'd lived his whole life knowing that from behind the next tree, around the next corner, death might come and try to take him. But Freak knew that to inspire such fear in so many beings... it would have to be quite a threat indeed.

The cub sat down in the shadows of a bush as he watched a lone monkey wander around. Maybe the being was suicidal, maybe it was insane, maybe it was just stupid. It didn't matter to him. But it was prey, and might attract the predator...

Two hours later, the same monkey was still waltzing around in the Jungle, as oblivious to the danger of being in the area as the insects crawling on the ground. The li-tigon still refused to move, knowing that anything could alert the predator to his presence. He'd need to be unnoticed by everything in order to have a chance at killing the other hunter, the only being in the Jungle that could challenge him now.

But what kind of a predator was it, to not try to take such foolish, easy prey? Did it not have sense? Was it sleeping? Or had it somehow found Freak?

All the li-tigon's answers were answered as he heard the same, ominous watery sound behind and above him. Except, at this range, it didn't sound like water. It sounded like... slithering.

Freak carefully tilted his head a little, so he could see the predator in its entirety. It was as long as a tree, and was wide around as the li-tigon. It was a brilliant pattern, formed of dark, green diamonds, and a brownish undertone. Now he understood why no one had properly see the animal before. Even where he sat, two feet away from it, Freak couldn't see it properly.

But he saw enough. The animal had neither claws nor paws, its only weapon was its jaws. Freak could smell the faint, toxic odor of poison, and decided that the reptilian's longer fangs were venomous. Suddenly, the creature tensed up, and the cub saw his chance to attack approaching fast. The animal's long, muscled body coiled around the branch it was on, ready to leap through the air with blinding speed and bite the monkey, carrying him away in his jaws before anyone could see him.

Freak heard a faint hissing sound behind him, then saw the telltale blur. The li-tigon chose that moment to strike.

The snake shot out of the brush as if fired by a cannon, moving at incredibly fast speeds. Before it could get five feet, however, Freak roared and jumped up, digging his claws deep into the animal's flesh, just under its neck. And though the scaled animal tried, he couldn't slow down in midair. The li-tigon dug his claws into the ground, holding himself into place. His claws ran down the entire length of the predator's body, slicing up muscles, bones, and even squishy organs. The blades finally broke free at the creature's tail, almost thirty feet from its head.

The monkey only noticed when the snake practically ran into it. The predator wasn't paying attention to the prey or his own movements, such was his pain due to the li-tigon's attack. The snake continued on its path, but due to the changing of its shape from an aerodynamic line into a floppy mess, ran head on into the ground. The reptilian slid around in the dirt before finally coming to rest near the base of a tree.

The monkey screamed and loped away from the scene. The snake, and the soil where it had landed were actually smoking from the immense friction that they went through. And though Freak had landed a very serious hit... he was too smart to think that the predator was dead.

So he waited.

And waited.

A full hour later, he finally moved cautiously to the snake. He'd been listening as closely as he was able to. But there was one thing he didn't know.

The very spot he was standing on was grown from volcanic soil, which is widely recognized to be some of the best plant-growing material on Earth. In fact, sometimes, volcanic ash still floated down into the Jungles, bringing new life with it. The dip in the ground had collected a load of the stuff, and the snake was laying in the center of it.

Being that the ash was virtually lighter than air, it muffled sound very well. The predator was alive and well, and now waiting for a chance to strike at the cub.

He got to within twenty feet of the snake, when finally his eyes picked up the minuscule up and down motions of the reptile's ribs. The cub knew that the snake was alive and well, and waiting for him to get close enough before landing a blow with those venomous, curved fangs.

So rather than move towards the snake, Freak sat down on the ground. Blood loss would force the animal to make a move soon enough. In fact, from the li-tigon's judgments, the animal had only minutes left before its movements would be hindered down to almost nothing by the terrible wounds.

But the predator was one step ahead of Freak. He was too smart to hope that the cub would assume he was dead, and his guesses were confirmed when the cub didn't get any closer. But the whole time, he'd been timing the slight, imperceptible motions of his tail. He'd move it, millimeter by millimeter, in time with his inhaling, closer to his body, making small mounds of ash as he did so...

Freak saw movement, and prepared to react. But he'd been outsmarted. The snake deliberately shot its head skywards, and the cub's eyes had followed it, keeping his attention on those wicked fangs. But the snake's tail shot out and whipped dust into the cub's eyes, blinding him.

He felt his eyes sting and puff up, but knew that he had to dodge in order to live. So he leaped into the air, and scampered up the nearest tree by touch alone. Every few second, something would tip him off: a change in air pressure, a sudden hiss, something... but each time, the cub managed to evade another strike.

Another few seconds later, he was at the top of the tree and jumped into the air. At the apex of the jump, he forced his eyes to open for a second and looked down, straight into the gullet of the snake. So the clever bastard was going to skewer him on those fangs, not even bothering to pursue the feline into the air.

Freak knew that he'd get bitten, he had no delusions to the contraryt. But he wanted to take the predator down with him; at least die along with his enemy. He closed his eyes again, but faced his body down and outstretched his claws, preparing to tear apart the snake. He felt a blast of warm air and knew it was now or never—

His claws and face hit something warm and wet, and there was an unspeakable pain in the cub's gut. But his paws were doing their jobs without conscious thought, ripping up the great snake's mouth and throat, tearing apart gums, flesh, and tendons without much thought from Freak. He felt the pain in him increase, roared in agony, and thrust all claws straight up.

Everything stopped.

There the cub was, half his body down the throat of a thirty foot long snake that was erect in the air, like some organic extension of the tree it was perched on. After a moment of nothing but the same pain in his belly, Freak forced his eyes open again.

There was bloody everywhere. Not an inch of the snake's mouth that he could reach was unscathed. And as he looked up to where his claws still were, he saw that he had punctured through the animal's skull cavity, straight into its brain. The predator was dead, no doubt about that.

But Freak had no time to revel in this fact. Rigor mortis was overcome by gravity, and the snake fell, the cub still held in its fangs.

The li-tigon was far too exhausted and injured to do anything at this point. Apart from the venomous fangs, he'd been cut up more than a little by the other ones as well, and the introduction of the poison to his system... it was enough to kill an elephant.

Combine that with the fall, and you have a combo deadly enough that it should have pulverized the cub into oblivion.

All Freak could remember was a great impact, and the feeling of the fangs pricking ever deeper into his skin. Blood from the snake's skull and his own body mingled together, but it didn't matter any more. Not to the cub.

"_I am strong. I killed this other predator. I did it. I am strong. I may not have survived it. But I did it. I am strong. I lived long enough to become strong. I am strong."_

That's what he kept thinking as he quickly and quietly lapsed into unconsciousness.

"_I am strong."_

* * *

The cub woke up. How long it had been since he lay inches from death in the jaws of the serpent, he didn't know.

Freak tried to get up, but quickly flinched at the series of bloody wounds all over him, and lay down again. So he just looked around from his position on the ground.

He was in some secluded part of the Jungle, probably in the southwest corner, where there was little greens to support many of his usual prey items. He had been placed at the base of some tree, with a freshly killed rat at his side, practically asking to be eaten. The li-tigon was immediately suspicious, and sniffed around.

He got two scents: one was totally new to him, and he didn't recognize it at all. But the other one, he recognized straight away.

"_He did say he'd have his revenge."_

* * *

"He's awake now. Should I attack?"

"No. Not yet. I want him to be at his full strength. I want him to feel each blow you lay on him, each time his flesh tears in your jaws. I want him to feel a taste of the pain that I felt when him and his accursed mother killed my mate and daughter. I want him to feel it."

"...I can't pretend to understand your motives. But you are hiring me, and for the price that you will pay... I'm willing to listen. But remember what you promised me once I kill this freak."

"Usiku of the Bloody Shadows... rest assured. Your time will come."

"Not for some time. I must return to the Bloody Shadows soon. I will not be able to return for a few years, and by then, this cub will be a full-grown lion. Killing him will be a challenge... one that I shall enjoy."

"I do not care. As long as you kill him in the end, you may return. I consider every moment that the freak spends alive a build-up to his final punishment. By now, he knows that I have not forgotten him, and that I will get revenge. He's probably going to piss himself every morning, wondering if it is his last day on Earth."

"... You've changed, Mganga. I remember, years ago, when we were both young. You used to help every creature that needed it, but now, it looks like your only mission in life is to bring this pitiful cub pain."

"Losing a family will do that to you."

The monkey looked in at the large, black hyena next to him. The being's motives were totally foreign to him, but his price was simple, and one that the monkey could guarantee with no problems. And he didn't care. The freak, and his abomination of a mother: beings that could turn a being that used to love all unconditionally into one that was only filled with hate deserved everything that they got, and everything that they would get, a thousand times over.

"Why do you want to lead the Outland hyenas?" the monkey casually asked.

The hyena growled, and in a flash, pinned the monkey to the Jungle ground, holding his teeth a hair's breadth from the primate's face.

"That is none of your business, Mganga. You are to call in the favors that the four leaders of the hyenas owe you, and insert me above them. This you know. But why I desire it... is a matter that does not concern you."

Usiku allowed the monkey to his feet.

"As you wish, Usiku. Though I'm not sure your father would approve."

The black hyena snarled at that, but did nothing to the monkey.

"What Kivuli of the Bloody Shadows would or would not do is none of my concern. I am different from that being."

Mganga looked at the black hyena. He was the spitting image of his father, whom the monkey had aided, like so many other creatures in his life.

"As you say. All I want... is for that freak to suffer."

Usiku grinned. If he was in any way like his father... he was just as capable, if not more adept at causing pain.

"And he shall. Make no mistake. The son of the abomination will suffer."

Then the hyena left, heading towards the Bloody Shadows. His journey would take him over the treacherous volcanoes to the west, and he'd need sustenance. Usiku grinned.

"_Finally, a chance to do what I do best,"_ he thought, as he neared a family of nearly a dozen lemurs.

* * *

Freak finally dug into his lemur. He'd sniffed over it carefully, and judged it to be totally devoid of poison. He didn't need to move too tenderly, his wounds had been attended. It must have been by the monkey that had sworn to avenge his family, as each cut had a complex paste of many jungle plants on it. The venom had been treated too, with some sort of antivenom... Freak had no idea how to make either drug, but it was doing him a world of good.

He leaned back, and slept. Though he had killed the snake and shed light upon the Dark Zone... he knew that he was was far from invincible. But now, he had a plan. He would take his mother's home back as his own, and live in the much more fertile northern lobe of the Jungle. Life would finally be easy for him, and he might even find the reason that he still fought so hard to live...

* * *

(Next chapter, Freak will finally see another big cat for the second time in his life, the first time that he will be able to easily remember. In fact, he will see two, and watching them together will entice his curiosity. In fact, he will get so curious that he will be drawn out of the Jungle and... but that's for the next chapter. Kudos again to Jagabor, he's really been great to allow me to refer to what I believe is the coolest Lion King original character ever. Anyway, that's it for today. Next chapter will be up when I finish writing it. Look forward to it; al-Mujahid out.) 


	4. Return to the Pride Lands

The Lion King: The Freak  
Chapter 4: Return to the Pride Lands

* * *

(I'm going to have to use the most feared mafia tactic that I possibly could at this point. I will not update until I get at least five reviews for this chapter, at least three of which must be from people that haven't yet reviewed it. Way I see it, you have no right to read this far without reviewing. It's not that hard, people. To my devoted fans... tell your friends, tell your enemies, get my name out there. I try to update with frequency, and I've been pretty good about that. But, if I don't see this story getting much attention, then I don't really have a problem with putting it on hold... indefinitely.

Wow, that sounded mean. But come on... try to see things from my point of view. All of eleven reviews for nineteen thousand words? I'm going to PM many Lion King fanfic authors and suggest this to them in a desperate attempt to get some traffic. If that doesn't work, then I pass the torch on to my readers, and hope that they can get some attention for this fanfic.

Anyway, without further ranting form me, let's get on with the fanfic. This chapter will be a little spiritual, as I believe in the supernatural on many levels. If you're a militant atheist, well, don't read! Finally, there will be some content that could be considered drug reference. This chapter will get confusing towards the end, but I think that with effort it can be understood.)

* * *

It was morning. Freak had rested excessively after eating the lemur, and his wounds were starting to heal. He could now travel again, with little pain.

He was in the western part of the Jungle, at the base of the volcano where the Dark Zone used to be. To get his bearings, he climbed up several feet onto an obsidian outcropping, and looked around.

From listening in on many a conversation about his mother, the li-tigon had ascertained that his mother's cave was in the eastern part of the northern lobe of the Jungle. It was still a ways off, but if he got going now, he'd be able to make it by nightfall.

It struck the cub just how large the Jungle was. The southern part, the part isolated by the former Dark Zone, was big enough that it would literally take him weeks to explore all of it. Which he'd never done, seeing as how he still wanted to keep his existence private, and there was enough prey in the vicinity of his log.

But the northern part... it was even larger. Though Freak had traveled through the Dark Zone and reached his log in one night, that's because he'd traveled on a direct route. The log, like the cave, was in the eastern part of the Jungle. And when he'd hunted the snake, he'd had to do so in the far western part of the Jungle.

The new place where Freak found himself was incredibly large. It was as big as the southern lobe, ten times over. Even from where he was, he could see at least a dozen lemur and monkey clans within five miles of him. Hunting would be easier for him, with the higher density of prey.

Another interesting feature of the northern part of the Jungle was that here and there, plains dotted the landscape. And though during Chukizo's pregnancy, all of the large prey animals had suddenly left to the Pride Lands, some had since come back. Though Freak couldn't see them from where he was, there were several herds of zebra in the Jungle.

The cub just surveyed the landscape, marking out good hunting grounds, and various escape routes should he need to leave the Jungle for any reason. After several minutes, he slowly trotted down from the mountain, and started the long journey to his new home...

* * *

Freak was starting to recognize the area. Every now and again, he'd have a flash of some long-forgotten memory. It was never much—just a vision of himself running through the Jungle, or looking at a new form of life, or gazing up at the moon. But as he got closer to the eastern part of the Jungle, the flashbacks became more and more frequent.

It was almost sunset, and the li-tigon had come far. He was nearing the base of the eastern mountain range, and he was just coming out of the treeline.

Freak looked down. There was a puddle on the ground, and suddenly, out of nowhere, two lizards came up to it and starting drinking from it. At that, the cub got another flash of memory, this one clearer than any other.

"_These two lizards... taught me how to drink water,"_ he thought, as he looked at the pair.

After being rooted to the spot for a few minutes, until he two small animals had drunk their fill and left, Freak found it in himself to go on. He looked up at the base of the mountain, and with a rush of foreboding, he saw a hole in the side of the rock face. Even from where he was, he could catch the unmistakable scent of old bones.

Slowly, the cub started towards the cave. As he did, he got more and more sparks of memory, and knew that this was his mother's home. Sketchy, still, but they were getting clearer.

"_My daughter... you are beautiful... Your father will be proud... I will be with him momentarily..."_

"_...I'm so sorry... I did what's best for you..."_

The next few memories were as clear to Freak as if they'd happened yesterday.

"_My son... you truly do have a body fit for a King."_

_There was a vision... a too-skinny cat, like him. A subdued shade of orange lit her fur up more than a true lioness's, and jagged gray stripes ran up and down her sides like blades of grass._

"_I wish that I could give you a better life," she had said, starting to walked towards the baby li-tigon._

_She reached out a claw, towards his neck, and Freak had recognized the danger. He called on all of the meager strength of his newborn body, and jumped out of the way._

_She hadn't liked that._

"_Son... I only wish to ease your passing. Don't resist me, please."_

_She'd gotten to her feet, and the cub had realized just how much bigger than him she was. She towered over him, and though from her body language he knew that she was in bad condition... she was a very big threat. She tried to slice his neck again, and he had to jump out of the way again._

_She hadn't liked that either._

"_So be it, child. If you do not decide to follow the wishes of your mother, I'll have to make you!"_

_The cub had seen his mother's paw draw back over her head, and felt a thrill of premonition. He dug his tiny paws into the ground and jumped backwards. But he was just a newborn._

_There was a terrible pain, and Freak saw half of his vision fill with blood, and the other half fill with the sight of the dusty floor of the cave. But after a moment, he looked up._

"_You really are Scar's son."_

_There was a terrible noise... a cry of pain. Freak had crouched into a low fighting stance, but there was no danger. She was stumbling on her feet... and the cub realized that that's where he'd learned that confusion tactic. Not from a monkey... but from his mother._

"_So... I am not to kill my son and send him to a better place? Must fate place him into a world in which he will be more hated and alone than Scar and I were?"_

Scar... Scar... who was he? Freak brought himself out of the lapse into the past, long enough to mentally note that Scar, whoever he was... was his father.

_Chukizo leaned over, and he saw blood spill from her muzzle. She coughed, a terrible, dry sound, one that even then, the cub saw as a sign of impending death._

_She finally fell, and rolled over to her side. The cub saw his mother's teats, but didn't know what they were. He just sat still, watching and listening, while she spoke._

"_You are a cub, my son. You need milk. And if I am not to kill you, then it is my responsibility as a mother to see to it that I can do what I can for you."_

My responsibility as a mother. Freak had watched many mothers, dozens of them, care for their children. But he had never understood why... and now, he was starting to. He was of his mother, as certainly as he was of the Circle of Life.

Had he been loved?

The cub wasn't sure... He just closed his eyes, plodding ever closer to the mouth of the cave, and allowed memories to take him over once again.

_Instinctively, he walked over to his mother's side, and for the only time in his life so far, he touched another big cat. He starting to drink her milk, feeling his body fill with strength, and his mind fill with consciousness. He had his first thoughts._

"_Why is she helping me?"_

"_She has no reason to. She tried to hurt me. She tried to kill me. She killed the other one," he'd thought, looking at the other cub._

_He continued to suckle._

"_I hate her."_

Freak opened his eyes at that thought. He was literally one step from the entrance to the cave.

Shaking, he stepped in.

It was dark inside. Dark, and cold. Dust littered the ground. And, in one corner, exactly where he remembered last seeing her, were the bones of his mother. They were untouched... in perfect condition. From the size of them, Freak could see that he was still much smaller than her. But he was getting there, fast.

The cub didn't know what to do. He didn't touch the bones, for fear of breaking them. Freak just looked at them, imagining his mother...

"_She tried to kill me... so that I wouldn't have to live a hard life. And I know that my life has been hard,"_ he thought back to all of his battles, how he'd had to do everything alone, and how there had never been any hope for anything else.

"_I don't hate her. And I don't hate Scar, either, wherever he is. There must be some reason... why he didn't come for me. She spoke of him highly, so he must have been good. After all, she... loved me."_

He didn't know what love is, exactly, having only experienced it for two or three minutes while he and his mother were alive at the same time. But he remembered each time that he'd watched a family of some sort together. They always seemed happy, and though Freak could never understand why, now he knew that such feelings... were worth staying alive for.

"_Is this why I've been trying so hard to live? Have I been looking for love this whole time?"_

Freak looked over to the smaller set of bones near Chukizo's.

"_My sister..."_ he thought.

The cub was worn out from a long day of walking, his injuries, and the sight of his mother and sister. He lay down... at his mother's side. After a few minutes, he got up, and carefully scooted his sister's bones next to him as well. He felt no warmth or happiness, but he was trying. For the first night in his life, Freak was not alone in spirit. His mother and sister were at his side, and from Heaven, they looked down upon him, along with his father.

"_Son... you were looking for love. And maybe, you will find it. Soon. We'll be with you,"said Chukizo, as she smiled at her son._

_From her side, Scar looked at his son. He was impressed by the lad, who had enough muscle at his age to take on a wildebeest. As the moon peeked out from a cover of clouds, he saw the cub's darkish fur, and then, his skinny black stripes._

"_Live well, my son. I pray that you may see Simba, some day, and relay to him my apology from beyond the grave..."_

* * *

Taka was about a year old at the time, the same age as Freak was in the present day. He was lying around in the den, at his mother's side. His brother, who customarily slept with Ahadi, their father, was gone from his spot, a fact that Taka quickly noticed.

Eyes widening in a flash of premonition, he tried to hit the ground, but it was too late. He felt a paw bat the back of his head, and he fell down to the dusty floor of the den. Then, he heard the familiar chuckle of his brother.

Groaning, Taka spoke up.

"Mufasa... you know that I hate that. Why do you always do it?"

The sand-colored lion cub walked over to his brother, and gave him a friendly head butt.

"Because, as the future King, I must now and then show my dominance over my subject," he said, smiling down at Taka.

The words struck the dark lion right in the heart. Though he knew that his brother was not malicious, his words hurt the lion cub all the same.

"_That's true... I will never be King. Always second-best, Mufasa's subject."_

He sighed, and slowly got to his feet, to see that his brother was grinning at him. The sandy lion playfully bopped his brother on the head with a fisted paw.

"Come on, Taka. Let's go to the waterhole! You can be my bodyguard."

In spite of himself, Taka smiled. Mufasa's optimism was infectious, and even made the darker lion cub forget the otherwise constant pain of being unloved by his father.

Taka got to his feet, and with an uncharacteristic grin, he looked at his brother.

"Race ya," he said, then took off towards the little oasis in the distance.

Mufasa was dumbfounded for a moment, then ran, trying to catch up with his best friend.

A quarter of an hour later, the two brothers arrived at the waterhole. At this time of day, it was rather unoccupied. Only a few flamingos and zebras were around, and they all bowed to Mufasa and Taka as they approached the small lake, the sun rising behind them as if they were its couriers.

Taka waited for Mufasa to take the first drink before starting in himself. He sat at his brother's side, every now and then looking around for danger.

"_Even if I'm only ever going to be second to Mufasa... I am his brother. I'm responsible for his safety. After all, he is my future King."_

The first few minutes were peaceful, even as the other animals slowly started to move away from the water. Then, Taka caught scent of something that he'd smelled before, and had been taught by his mother to fear.

Hyenas.

Taka tapped his brother on the shoulder, and Mufasa growled at the distraction.

"What is it, Taka?" he said, glaring at his brother.

Taka kept his voice low, and replied.

"Brother... there are hyenas about. We should leave, before—"

Suddenly, there was the distant clatter of hooves in the distance. Though at this time, hyenas were allowed to freely travel in the Pride Lands provided that they respected the lions, they sometimes forgot about the treaty when prey was present.

The zebras that had left the waterhole had been suddenly set upon by the carnivorous dogs, and were running at breakneck speed back to the patch of trees and shrubbery. The two lion cubs's eyes widened as the horde of black and white animals thundered towards them.

"_No,"_ thought Taka, and he suddenly ran towards cover.

But then, the dark lion remembered his brother. He stopped in his tracks and raced back to find that Mufasa was sitting there, wide-eyed, as the zebras got closer and closer. Taka didn't even try to talk to the sandy cub, he just grabbed his brother by the scruff of his neck and dragged him up and over a log as the sharp hooves approached—

Taka shoved his brother's head into the ground as he too ducked low. He looked up to see dozens of the herbivores leap over them, and promptly shut his eyes as he crouched lower still.

A long while later, Taka got up. The miniature stampede had finished, and off in the distance, the cub could see a large family of hyenas feasting upon their kills.

"_It's not their fault. They didn't know we were here... it was just an accident," _thought the brownish lion, as he remembered his brother.

Suddenly, he brought his paws off of Mufasa's head, allowing him to get up. The sandy lion spat out a mouthful of dirt, then glared at Taka.

The other cub backed up sharply at the murderous look his brother gave him.

"Muffy... what's—"

He was cut off as the other lion jumped forward and gave him a powerful whack across the face. Taka felt his head get turned to the side as he flew through the air and tumbled to the ground. Though the dark lion was faster on his feet and a quicker thinker, when it came to short-range combat... Mufasa was infinitely superior.

Taka coughed, and tried to get to his feet. But he was forced back down to the ground as the sandy cub jumped on him. The dark lion felt his breath get crushed out of his lungs, and saw stars. Being that he was the future King, Mufasa had always been fed better than Taka was.

"Mufasa... brother... what's wr—"

He felt another whack on the back of his head, and saw more stars than ever.

"Be silent, upstart. How dare you try to dominate me? No less, under the pretense of protecting me from a stampede. I would have taken care of myself," growled Mufasa, as he pressed his brother's dark face into the dusty ground.

Several tears rolled off of the dark lion's cheeks, and he managed to raise his head up far enough to speak.

"Brother... I only wanted to protect you. Be your bodyguard. You are my future King, as well as my greatest friend. I couldn't bear to see you hurt."

Mufasa's harsh expression faltered, and he got up off of Taka. He faced away from the dark lion, and spoke with some anger still left in his voice.

"We will tell everyone that _I_ saved _you_ from the stampede. I would have, if you hadn't interfered. I was only judging the situation, I would have acted shortly."

The sandy cub started to walk away, refusing to face Taka. A few moments later, the darker cub stood up, and trotted up to his brother's side. Or near it, anyway. He walked just a few inches behind his brother, close enough to be associated with his greatness and protect him again if necessary, but never at his level or ahead. Always second-best.

Mufasa spoke up several minutes later.

"I know that you have... associates among the hyenas. So... for all I know, this stampede could have been triggered at your request, so that you could get a chance to try to dominate me."

Taka was about to speak up, but then his brother suddenly hit him again, knocking him to the ground. The dark lion cowered in fear, as he felt the other cub's breath on his face.

"I will tell Father of this. The hyenas will no longer be welcome in our home, brother. This is what happens when you dare to molest the rightful future King," said Mufasa, as he once again walked away.

Instead of following him, Taka rushed back towards the hyenas. He needed to at least say goodbye to his friends...

Then, he heard the sandy lion roar, and turned to see that Mufasa was facing him.

"Don't turn your back on _me_, Taka," he said, before walking on to Pride Rock.

Taka felt another tear roll off of his muzzle. He hoped that his brother would be okay on the short journey, but he still wanted to say a final farewell to the only beings besides his mother that appreciated his existence.

"_Oh no, Mufasa,"_ Taka thought, as he ran towards the family of hyenas, _"Perhaps you should not turn your back on me."_

* * *

It was Chukizo's second day alive. She was snoozing in the den, near the side of another lioness. Near, but never touching. Her mother was on the far side of the den, and being that she was the youngest lioness, she had to get up early, despite the fact that she'd just given birth the day before. The alpha male had shown her favor, despite her young age, and promised that at the rate she was going, she'd topple his present mate as head lioness within a year.

As the lioness started to walk out of the den, intending to check up on prey movement, she heard a soft voice behind her.

"Mommy?"

The lioness's head jerked around, to see that her only daughter was awake and speaking to her. The rest of the cubs... the other freaks... were still sleeping, but this one had caught sight of the lioness get up, and walked towards her.

Much to her mother's revulsion, Chukizo started to rub her head against the lioness's leg. The tigon purred, happy to be close to the being that had brought her into the world.

Suddenly, the baby felt a sharp pain on her face, and realized that she as flying through the air. Chukizo hit the ground, hard, and put a small paw to the side of her face. It came away, bloody, and she rolled onto her back, in pain. Her mother's face appeared above her, livid with rage.

"I... am... not... your... MOTHER!" she seethed, spitting the last word as if it was a curse.

The lioness put a paw on the Chukizo's chest, and slowly started to press down. The newborn's vision blurred, and she struggled to stay conscious. Though she knew how to extend her claws, she patted her mother's limb with bare paws, futily trying to stop her from crushing the life out of her.

"You... freak. You... abomination!" growled the lioness, pressing harder than ever—

The tigon felt her life starting to leave her, and her feeble movements slackened and slowed...

Then, abruptly, the crushing sensation let up. After a moment, Chukizo rolled to her feet, and opened her eyes fully. Her mother was standing a few feet from her, looking at the tigon in disgust. She was licking her paw, cleaning it.

"I will not touch your filth ever again, freak," she hissed, before leaving the den.

The tigon looked at the lioness's tawny tail flick out of view in sadness, before walking back to sleep among her brothers. One of them rolled over in his sleep, laying a paw over his sister, as if protecting her.

Chukizo smiled, even as tears welled up in her eyes.

"_At least I have you guys,"_ she thought, as she allowed the dark embrace of sleep to take her, the only embrace she would know for years.

* * *

Years passed.

Though Freak had never touched them again, never lifted a paw in their upkeep, the bones of his mother and sister remained totally intact. They were always there, in his cave, as if waiting for him to return at the end of his day.

The distinctive sound of a padded paw hitting the hard obsidian of the cave floor was heard. The li-tigon had returned from his hunt, licking his muzzle clean of the blood that had collected on it.

He was bigger than his mother now, though not by much. But his thin, rugged frame was just rippling with lean muscle, and his claws were as hard and sharp as diamond-tipped knives. Due to being a second-generation hybrid between two separate big cat species, his had many odd quirks. His skeletal structure was superdense, which was why he'd never broken a bone in his life, and probably never would. His teeth were long and curved, perfect for digging in and not letting go. And his muscular limbs were powerful enough to knock a water buffalo off its feet with a single swipe.

But living in total solitude for his entire cubhood had not been easy. He was cynical of other creatures, and had all but forgotten his so-called quest for love.

"_If fate wanted me to find love,"_ he reasoned, _"I would have been born into a better life."_

But the li-tigon was not bitter. He'd merely given up the hope of finding love or acceptance. Despite the fact that he'd long since announced his existence to the Jungle and taken credit for shedding light upon the Dark Zone, so to speak, not a single animal had thanked him or even given him a look of anything but disgust.

"_I am a freak, after all. They are _all_ threats."_

Tired from yet another day hunting, another successful kill, another bout of being cursed by many other animals, the li-tigon walked into his cave. He started to settle down to go to sleep, folding up his paws underneath him, and allowing his heavy eyelids to shut...

A little bit before dawn, Freak was awoken by a sudden blast of song from the distance. He leaped to his feet, looking around, wide-eyed, for the cause of the disturbance. Though he'd heard singing before in his life from eavesdropping on other animals, they were usually just soft cooing to children or simple rhythms. But this was totally different.

The li-tigon rushed out of the cave and up the side of the mountain. From his vantage point, he could see in the northernmost part of the Jungle there was something going on. Something... but he didn't know what.

"_It might be a threat... it's worth looking into,"_ thought Freak, and that's all it took.

He jumped off of the mountain into the trees, his form instantly disappearing into the Jungle, along with any thoughts of his family...

* * *

The li-tigon rushed through the treetops, darting towards the source of the music. He'd been in this part of the Jungle before, to explore and make sure that there were no very big threats in the area that needed taking care of.

He abruptly stopped, and climbed to the top of the tree. Calling on his finely-honed stealth skills, he poked his head out of the upper branches, to watch the scene below.

There was a baboon shaman of some sort, and he was leading, in song... two lions.

Freak's eyes widened as he looked at them. He had never seen another big cat, besides his mother, and now in front of his eyes were two of them. One was darker than he was, with a thicker mane. Obviously male. The other was tan, a color that Freak had actually never seen before. She was female, judging from her lack of mane.

Careful to remain undetected, he watched them cavort about the Jungle. Many animals were acting in very strange ways, ways that Freak didn't understand.

"_There are some plants, if imbibed, can cause erratic behavior..."_ he thought.

Once, he'd watched a child monkey eat the fruit of a poisonous plant. The little animal had done totally strange and irrational things, which quickly resulted in its death. Freak hadn't dared touch the body, however, the smell of the poison was still thick in its blood.

After what seemed like a long time, the two lions floated down from a waterfall into the plains to the north of the Jungle. And from Freak's vantage point, he could see in the extreme distance, a large, protruding rocky structure. The couple seemed to be traveling towards it. The whole time, the li-tigon's mind was working overtime.

"_What are they doing? Who are they? Why did they come here? How threatening are they? Should I kill them? Where are they going? Who was the monkey? What's the rocky structure? What should I do?"_

It took Freak a full minute of battling with his conflicting interests and curiosity to decide. He tore off after the pair, making sure to keep upwind of them so he could remain undetected. He always kept them just in view, crouching down to the ground every now and then, and making sure that his paws made no sound as they moved rapidly across the terrain.

"_If they do threaten me... I have no doubts that I can kill them both while sustaining minimal damage."_

"_But why do I care who they are or where they are going? They're just like everyone else, and one day or another, will become threats."_

He shook his head out of his morbid thoughts, and pressed on. He'd come rather far, and there was no point in turning back now. Freak only looked forward, knowing that he had no reason to want to stay in the Jungle.

"_It doesn't matter that I was born and spent my life there. I have not a single happy memory of the place, and all I've ever found there is hardship and pain. Maybe I should have left long ago."_

"_I don't give a damn about the Jungle. It could fill with lava tomorrow, and as long as I survive, it wouldn't matter to me."_

"_It's time for me to move on."_

Freak ran across the landscape, having to move twice as fast as the two lions. He had to stay upwind of them, and as a result, he was heading straight for the Shadow Lands. Though Usiku of the Bloody Shadows and Mganga of the Jungle thought that the hyenas lived in the Outlands, such was not the case. The hyenas that were ethnically descended from a group that had lived in the Pride for generations and had been kicked out into the Outlands by Ahadi, years ago, when Usiku was just a newborn, had since moved from the Outlands to the Shadow Lands, due to being kicked out by the Outland lions for killing Scar.

* * *

Mganga, Usiku, and one other being were up on a higher ledge of the western mountain range. From where they were, they could see the two distant lions, and the less distant Freak.

The black hyena had just returned from his home, the Bloody Shadows, with his child. She was as dark as her father, but had the lanky build of her mother. Usiku gave his daughter a playful nudge, and the baby hyena giggle, and looked up at her father with wide eyes.

Mganga spoke.

"Do you really think it's wise, to bring your daughter with you on such a dangerous mission? Though this disgusting abomination deserves death as much as his mother did, I cannot pretend that he looks very deadly, even for the big cat that he is."

"Don't concern yourself. I will deposit Uvuli in a place far from the action, and you may watch me tear apart this freak at your leisure."

"...As you wish. I am hardly in a position to offer you advice on how to be a good father."

The baby hyena caught hold of Mganga's foot in her paws, but didn't claw or bite him. The monkey felt a smile touch his lips, an expression that was now unfamiliar to him.

"Are you sure she's your daughter? She seems a little... benevolent."

Usiku chuckled, a dark, terrifying sound.

"That would be of her mother's doing," he said, and the monkey swore he heard the hyena's voice crack a little bit at the mention of his deceased mate.

"Come," said Usiku, "We must follow him now. Sit atop me, old one. You're paying me well enough for that privilege."

"As you say, son of my friend," replied Mganga.

Though Usiku tossed his head at the reference to his estranged and long-dead father, he said nothing, and with his teeth, gently picked up Uvuli and tossed her into the monkey's arms.

"Hold her, Mganga, doctor of the Jungle. We'll have to move quickly," said the hyena, before he jumped into the air, running down the side of the mountain.

* * *

Freak stopped in his tracks. He was being tracked, he was sure of it. He sniffed the air, calling upon his formidable sense of smell...

The li-tigon's eyes narrowed. He'd never forgotten the scent of the monkey, nor the other strange smell, one that he still had yet to match with any creature that he'd seen or hear. There was also another one, similar to the second smell, but less prevalent. From the dispersion of the smells, and the wind patterns, Freak concluded that there were three beings: the monkey, the other unknown entity, and a smaller unknown entity of the same species as the second entity. As to why they were tracking him... that was obvious.

"_They intend to kill me. Those other two," _he thought, looking at the two lions, who were by now nearing the rock structure, _"might have been in collusion with them, or the three that are tracking me just took advantage of the fact that I've left the jungle and am now in unknown territory."_

Freak spat. He'd been foolish. And foolishness killed. He'd used the stupidity of prey against them many times, but this time, it could be his own undoing.

"_I don't know how strong the two unknown entities are... but I also don't know what advantages they have, or think they have, over me. There are just too many unknowns. I can't allow them to track me any more."_

With that, he broke off pursuit of the two lions, and raced to the northwest: towards the Shadow Lands.

* * *

Usiku slowed down, then stopped. His daughter was sleeping in the hands of Mganga, and the old monkey was starting to feel like his old self again, after holding the baby hyena for hours.

The older hyena swore.

"I've lost his scent," he growled.

Mganga's eyes narrowed, and he disembarked, still holding Uvuli.

"I have no idea where he's gone. It could be the Shadow Lands, the Outlands, or the Pride Lands. I have no desire to go to the Pride Lands and be killed by the combined efforts of all the lions there for merely being a hyena. The Outlands are also not an option, as I do not wish to announce my existence to the other hyenas before I've completed my mission. So... we must go to the Shadow Lands. I do not like it... those accursed lands have been abandoned for generations, as they are even uninhabitable in comparison to the Outlands. But... we have no option. And there's a good chance that Freak has gone there."

Usiku cursed again.

"And I cannot hope to sneak through the Outlands, not while having to carry both you and Uvuli. We'll have to go around the eastern limits of the Outlands, then travel around the southwestern border of the Pride Lands in order to get to the Shadow Lands. It's a roundabout way of doing things... but to try to travel to the Shadow Lands directly would mean going right through the heart of the Outlands."

The black hyena growled, and shook his head. Mganga took that as the signal to mount him again.

"It will be a few days before we get there. But then, finally, we can resume finding the freak."

Usiku started up again, but at a slower pace. At these, the southern limits of the Pride Lands and the eastern limits of the Outlands, he had to be cautious. Careful, quiet, and cautious. But he was as legendary an assassin of the Bloody Shadows as his father was before him. Maybe even more so.

* * *

Freak panted. He'd had to avoid hyenas in the Shadow Lands for a full day. But, at least, he'd been able to attach a picture of his tracker to the scent. It was probably a bigger hyena, built heavy. Powerful, perhaps, but probably slower than he was.

He'd been watching three groups, after shaking off his pursuers. One was a group of lions The two lions that had visited the Jungle had come into contact with the others, and Freak had seen several lions and lionesses that he'd immediately marked as threatening.

The other was a different group of lions, and Freak had watched as one of them, a young, scrawny female surveyed the dark lion as he followed what the li-tigon assumed to be the leader of the first group of lions into a cave. That skinny lioness had run to the southwestern part of the Pride Lands to report to an older lioness. Listening in, the cub managed to piece several facts together. Later that day, the second group of lions, now all female, had attacked the leader lion of the first pride, though they failed to kill him. One lion, a scrawny, mangy mutt that was older than the dark lion that Freak had seen in his Jungle had died. Freak watched as the dark lion, Kovu, was scarred by his mother, Zira, and expelled to the first pride.

After that, the leader of the first pride, Simba, had expelled him also. He'd run to the northwest, towards the Shadow Lands, until the first lioness Freak had ever seen, Kiara, had come to him. He watched as the two spoke, and agreed that the only way for anyone to live in peace was for the two warring clans of lions to end hostilities.

Freak had also been observing the hyenas of the Shadow Lands. They were dying off, slowly. There were only a few dozen of them, but there was just not enough food in the terrible area. The introduction of the li-tigon to the area made it even harder on them, as he had to eat a lot as well. He'd seen four leaders: Banzai, Shenzi, and Ed were all middle-aged, and one younger one known only as T, were all trying their best to feed their family. But there was less and less food to go around, and the four were presently planning an attack on the Pride Lands, to take back the territory of their ancestors, despite being unaware of the present situation between the two lion clans.

It was raining now, and Freak had just eaten a zebra down to the bones, making sure that the hyenas had no evidence of his presence. He knew that an all-out battle between the two clans was inevitable, and he wanted to be there, watching from the sidelines, to figure out how to best profit from the outcome.

The two lion clans had come together, and things were getting dirty. But then, the dark lion and his mate had stepped in, convincing all but one lion, the dark one's mother, to stop fighting. Freak had watched as, in a final act of malice, Zira allowed herself to die rather than be saved by Kiara.

"_Fool,"_ he mused.

After all, the concept of being indebted to one was still totally foreign to Freak. After all, besides his mother, no being had ever done anything for him.

The next day was a joyous occasion for all but the hyenas. The entire populace of the Pride Lands had watched as Kovu and Kiara were marked as future King and Queen, and the four monarchs had roared, their booming reports echoing across the land for miles around.

Meanwhile, the hyenas were in a worse position than ever before. Even the leaders, who were the most well-fed of the bunch were on the far fringes of starvation, and every other hyena was literally one day without food from death. They planned to attack: just as soon as the ceremony was finished, and the lions were left alone.

Freak knew that their chances of surviving were nothing. A few dozen ragtag, starving hyenas against a well-fed pride of lions? The lions would win, every time. Before the attack, though, the four leaders left to make one last hunt, to feed their troops before the invasion.

The main hyenas left, and Freak was considering his next move, when suddenly, it was made for him.

He perked up when he noticed that his three trackers were back. And though they had yet to catch onto his scent again, Freak knew that it wouldn't be long.

Foolishly, he'd run out of his hiding place, away from the three trackers. Right into the view of the entire army of hyenas.

* * *

They growled, looking at the li-tigon. It didn't take much investigation to notice that he'd been eating—well.

"He's the one that's been stealing our food!" rasped an elderly female.

"He must have been hired by the accursed lions to kill us all!"

The hyenas got more and more rowdy, and started to walk towards Freak. And though there was only one of him and dozens of them, he knew that he could take them. But still...

"I have no intentions of fighting you," he said, though he slowly lowered his body into a defensive stance.

Several of them laughed.

"But you're killing us by taking our food as surely as you would by biting our heads off," one male commented.

The li-tigon could say nothing to that. He knew it was true. But again, he tried to avoid conflict.

"I can help you. If we work together, we can attack the Pride Lands and overthrow the monarchs that exiled your people so long ago. I care not about King Simba, Queen Nala, or their pilfering brats."

Actually, Freak only wanted to have a chance to slip away. It was true that he felt no loyalty towards the now united clan of lions, but he didn't want to engage them in combat either. Not when he didn't have to, and certainly not with a worthless gaggle of hyenas on his side.

More of the dog-looking creatures laughed.

"We know that's not true. I don't know what you are, freak, but you're no lion. You were hired to kill us, no doubt, and you think that you can play with us like that? I DON'T THINK SO!" raged a young male, as he rushed towards Freak.

The li-tigon roared, causing the airborn hyena to reconsider his decision. But it was too late. The big cat's jaws bit down on his skull, ending him then and there. The rest of the hyenas looked horrified, then saddened, then galvanized by Freak's brutality. En masse, they attacked him.

"_Everyone is a threat,"_ he thought, as he leaped into the oncoming wave of flesh.

* * *

Farther off, Usiku was beginning to pick up Freak's scent. Mganga jumped off, and set Uvuli down.

"He's been here for some time. And he's in the area, still."

The father hyena picked up his daughter, and set her in a small crevice. The baby hyena whimpered, and looked up with her large, brown eyes.

"I'm sorry, Uvuli. It's dangerous. But daddy will be back soon, with a nice kill for his little girl!"

He laughed sadistically, and ran off to Mganga. The monkey jumped onto the black hyena's back, sparing Uvuli hardly a glance in farewell.

* * *

The hyenas finally lay dead or dying. Each and every one of them had tried to attack Freak, and some had succeeded. He wore more than one fresh cut or bite wound, and though none were life-threatening, they did sap at his strength. The li-tigon looked around for additional threats, when suddenly he remembered his trackers.

He sniffed at the air, and with dismay, realized that they'd locked onto his position, two of them anyway, and were approaching fast.

"_Desperate times call for desperate measures," _the li-tigon thought, as he ran down a nearly suicidal stretch of lava and mountain, one that was sure to erase his scent trail.

But there was one trail that he had forgotten to erase.

Blood.

* * *

Usiku and Mganga were closing in on the bloodbath. From where he was, the black hyena could smell the death, thick in the air. And then, up and over the next rise, the gory scene met his eyes.

He sat there, as motionless as a statue, as the monkey's instinct kicked in and he rushed to check for survivors. There were none. Then, the new Mganga returned, and he walked back up to the hyena.

"Where is he?" the monkey demanded.

Usiku looked around, sniffing.

"I don't know," he said, softly, and then his eyes met a pattern of blood droplets.

The hyena walked over to them, and lapped them up with his tongue tasting them. Then, his eyes narrowed, and he laughed.

"Come on, Mganga. He's gone that way."

Even the experienced assassin was intimidated by the ridiculous path that the blood droplets indicated, and he was frustrated with the knowledge that as the li-tigon had a longer body, he'd be able to make longer jumps. The freak was several hours ahead of them yet, and Usiku couldn't hope to make up time on the path. But there was no other option.

"_Wait,"_ he thought, _"this path is in the exact direction towards... Uvuli!"_

His eyes widened, and he howled in horror for a moment. Then, moving much quicker than was safe, the hyena set off down the dangerous path. Mganga had to close his eyes and hold on tight, but he kept his mind on his goal.

"_My son... my wife... soon, you will be avenged. Very soon."_

* * *

Freak panted again. It had been hard going, but he knew that he'd gained at least some time on the two trackers. But he couldn't run forever. He'd have to set up some ambush, or something, and face his enemy.

Suddenly, he paused, sniffing the air. The scent was unmistakable. The third tracker, whoever it was, was not far away. Not at all.

"_Clever bastards... they mean to trap me and ambush me all at once. I'll kill the lone one, and then face the others on my own time,"_ he thought, making for the side of the mountain.

He raised a clawed paw and was about to strike into the crevice when common sense hit him. No full grown hyena could possibly fit there. It must be a baby... and for his other two trackers to not take her with them into a path of possible danger, they must care for her.

Freak peered into the little hole. And there she was: Uvuli of the Blood Shadows, daughter of Usiku, grand-daughter of Kivuli. She was sleeping peacefully, totally unaware of the li-tigon. He contemplated gruesomely killing her as a warning, but then was struck by an even better idea.

"_If I take her with me... I can use her as a hostage. I can barter for my safety."_

That sounded good. Freak carefully reached into the crack and pulled out Uvuli by the scruff of her neck, instinctively knowing just how to hold her without harming her. After all, the more she was hurt, the less help to him she'd be.

"_What now?" _he thought.

But there was no time to think. He caught scent of his two trackers again, closer than ever. The li-tigon set off eastward, moving as fast as he could, baby hyena still asleep in his jaws.

* * *

Shenzi, Banzai, Ed, and T returned to the Shadow Lands with heavy hearts. Their hunt had failed, utterly, and they had no consoling words for their soldiers. The invasion was an act of desperation, and in each of their hearts, the four leaders knew that it was probably doomed to failure.

But it was better to die on one's feet than to die a slow and painful death of starvation. And for all their loyal family had done for them, the leading hyenas at least owed them an honorable death.

But nothing in their painful, starvation-filled lives had prepared them for the sorry sight that met their eyes.

All of the troops—each uncle, aunt, brother, sister, nephew niece—all of them—were dead. Blood was splattered all around the top of the crater, and flies were already starting to make short work of the too-skinny hyenas.

After a long, sorrowful moment whose full weight could not be appreciated since all four of the leaders were starving as well, Shenzi spoke.

"Well... we wanted 'em to go out with a bang. And it looks like they did."

"Yeah," rasped Banzai.

Ed nodded his head; even he was hurt by the gruesome sight.

"What do we do now?" asked T.

There was a long moment of silence, as each surviving hyena knew that there was nothing left for them. No reason to keep living. Nothing. Banzai started to speak.

"We could ask for Simba ta let us back into the Pride Lands. After all... now with only tha four of us, we won't eat too much."

After seeing Ed and T nod, Shenzi sighed, and spoke.

"Might as well. Worst he can do is say no," she said.

"Yeah," replied T, as her eyes filled with tears.

She was an outsider to the family, or at least she had been. But they'd welcomed her with open arms, and were more of a family than the one that she'd run away from.

"Well... come on, guys. We might as well make this one last trip tagether. We've been through so much... we might as well die together," said Shenzi, as she wiped away T's tears with a motherly paw.

Hanging their heads, the last four hyenas for dozens of miles in any direction started what they were sure was nothing more than a final march to their execution. Simba had a long memory, and like his father, could be downright cruel to those that wronged him.

* * *

Freak was now gasping for breath. He'd gone to the southeast, towards the Outlands, but had found no opportunity to set up an ambush. Worse, the two trackers were hot on his tail, never slowing or stopping for a second.

The li-tigon couldn't blame them. After all, he had a being dear to them. He considered leaving her and running off alone, but that would do him no good. The monkey would conceivably be dropped off to care for her while the remaining hyena pressed on alone, his heart filled with malice towards Freak for kidnapping his daughter.

The wind had shifted to blow in a south to north direction. Knowing that his enemies were coming from the west, that's where the li-tigon went. To the north, towards Pride Rock.

But Usiku was, after all, an assassin. He'd been trained to think as his prey, and was a step ahead of Freak already.

* * *

"Are you sure it's wise to change direction?"

The black hyena growled.

"My daughter is in danger, old one. Do not pester me with your questions," he said, running faster yet.

They'd suddenly started off eastwards when the wind changed. Usiku knew that the freak would think that his best chance was to stay upwind of his trackers, after all, until now, they'd been following him on scent alone.

"_I swear, freak... if you've harmed my daughter, then there will be that much more suffering for you. I swear it."_

* * *

Banzai, Shenzi, Ed and T nearly collapsed in their southeastern voyage. Out of starvation, or despair, it didn't matter. But each time, it was harder to get back up. After all... supposing they just laid down and died. It would make no difference. It seemed that for the past several generations, the Circle of Life had chosen to exclude hyenas. For generations, life had been unfairly hard on them, the only short change came during Scar's short reign as King.

In the distance, they saw that the four lion leaders, the King and Queen, their daughter and her new mate were traveling to the water hole. Even if the hyenas slithered across the ground like slugs, which in the eyes of the lions they probably were, their paths would intersect, sooner or later.

"Come on, guys," muttered Shenzi, "we might as well meet 'em now."

* * *

Simba smiled. He'd never been happier in his life.

To his right, his beautiful and loyal mate, Nala, who'd been by his side since cubhood. She smiled back at him, her creamy fur lighting up as she did so.

To his left, his daughter, Kiara, and her new mate, Kovu. The two youngsters had been stronger than Simba, to choose compassion over violence, and had risked everything by coming back, much less together.

"_Maybe I, too, can learn to forgive my enemies, and forget their sins."_

"_Life in the Shadow Lands must be hard for the hyenas... and though they were implicated in the killing of Father, I can hardly blame them. After all, Uncle Scar was their friend, and he felt that he had no option. Life must have been hard for him, as hard as it is for the hyenas now."_

The Lion King felt a pang. Perhaps he'd been cruel, to forget about the existence of beings that could be his loyal subjects, and just write them off as victims of the sometimes harsh Circle of Life.

"_Tomorrow, under a new type of rule, a compassionate one, brought to the Pride Lands by the wise Kiara and the strong Kovu... I will welcome them back with open arms. They are beings like us... struggling through the dangerous sandbox that is life. I have no reason, after all these years, to continue to hate them."_

Simba took in a deep breath, and spoke out loud.

"It's time to forgive and forget."

* * *

Freak's eyes widened in surprise. He'd caught the scent of his trackers again, but they were much closer, and coming from the east instead of from the path that he'd traveled along.

Somehow, they'd predicted his move, and were going to cut him off.

But the li-tigon still had his trump card: the baby hyena, still peacefully sleeping in his jaws.

He needed to set up some sort of ambush.

Not paying attention to where he was going, his mind only on defending himself from the other hyena, he jumped out of the tall grass into a clearing. Much to his surprise, four lions came into his field of view, not twenty feet from him.

* * *

The commotion startled the four leaders—no, the four _surviving_ hyenas, and they carefully walked into the opening to a very strange sight. They were towards Nala's right, but the Queen hardly gave them a second glance. And the hyenas could see why.

In front of their very eyes was a being that could only be described as a freak. He was a shade lighter than Kovu, but still darker than most lions. He had a mane, but it was only below his neck. Every now and then, in the fading light, dark jagged lines could be seen criss-crossing his sides. And on his eye... was a wound that was as familiar to Simba, Nala, and Kovu as Pride Rock. To add to the being's strange appearance, from his mouth dangled a baby female hyena.

"Scar?" whispered Simba, as he slowly crouched into a fighting stance.

"_Curses! Everywhere I go, beings hate me upon sight,"_ thought Freak, as he back towards the east, prepared to fight the lions, the hyenas, or his pursuer—

Out of nowhere, Usiku of the Bloody Shadows and Mganga of the Jungle jumped into the opening. The monkey dismounted from the black hyena, and gave Freak a look that plainly intended for his death. Usiku glared at him as well, but did nothing as hi s daughter's life was literally in the li-tigon's jaws.

"This ends now," said Mganga.

After all these years, Freak had never forgotten the monkey's appearance. He had changed... from a warm and loving creature into one that thought only of revenge, and the mental change manifested itself on his body.

"Release Uvuli, freak, and I will ease your passing," threatened Usiku, as he growled and slowly paced towards the li-tigon.

"Hey, who're—" started Shenzi, towards any of the three strangers.

But she was cut off by Usiku's growl. Now, Simba felt the need to get involved. The Lion King gave his finest roar, but that did nothing to difuse the tense situation. If anything, it worsened it. Now, the four Shadow Land hyenas felt threatened, and back away, ready to pounce on the lions, the strange hyena, or the freak if needed.

"As King of the Pride Lands, I demand to know what's going on!" he growled, dropping into a fighting stance, as Nala, Kiara, and Kovu did the same.

Usiku spoke, foolishly looking away from Freak.

"Simba, I am—"

Suddenly, his heart tore apart as he saw his daughter sail into the air, thrown from the li-tigon's jaws. Time slowed down as the father raced to catch his daughter, jumping, landing in the midst of the other hyenas who also held out their paws to break Uvuli's fall. At the same time, Simba, Kovu, Kiara and Nala, disgusted by the sudden act of malice done by the li-tigon jumped towards him. But Freak was as fast as they were, two times over.

The next thing the lions saw was the limp body of the monkey, held by the neck in the strange cat's jaws. He was _way_ dead, but just to make sure, Freak shook him, and bit entirely through his vertebrae, separating it from the ape's body. The two chunks of flesh hit the ground, and Mganga's face still wore an intense expression of hatred.

Twenty feet away, Uvuli was safe. She landed on the chest of her father, after her fall was partially broken by the combined efforts of the Shadow Land hyenas. But the baby had woken up, and started to cry. Her soft, high-pitched squeals hit each being present in the heart, even as all five other hyenas tried to calm her. All, of course, but Freak's.

"_Why do _they_ care if she's upset? They're not her parents,"_ he thought, as his gaze turned downwards.

Freak looked down with neither remorse nor regret in his heart. He didn't bother to close the vengeful being's eyes, and just sat still, waiting for something to happen, as he'd always done.

The four lions were shocked at the stranger's demeanor: how he'd literally cast aside the life of the baby hyena, used it for his own purposes, and was unaffected by her heart-wracking sobs.

"_What kind of a lion is he?"_ thought Kiara.

"_Does he have a heart?"_ wondered Nala, as she growled at the li-tigon.

"_...He reminds me of my mother,"_ Kovu mused, digging his claws into the ground, preparing to tear the being limb from limb.

But he was calmed by Simba's gentle paw, placed on his shoulder. Slowly, the lions dropped their guard, but like the King, didn't look away from Freak for a second. Usiku had made that mistake, and it had very nearly cost him his daugher's life.

For the moment, at least, all of the decades-old hostility between lions and hyenas was forgotten, as they banded together in the face of a much more hated being. Usiku, though mad as the Devil himself, didn't attack. After all, he was an assassin, paid to kill. Dealing out death for free would be bad business, and now his employer was dead.

"_A shame,"_ was all the black hyena thought as he got to his feet, nuzzling his daughter, looking at the monkey's body with an expression of apathy on his face.

The four other hyenas stood alongside their kinsman, now and again giving him a curious look, but quickly returning their full attention to the big cat. Like the lions, they followed Simba's unspoken command and lowered their guard, albeit grudgingly.

The Lion King spoke.

"You've got a lot of explaining to do, stranger..."

* * *

(I assure you, it is not my goal to make each chapter of this fanfic longer than the next. Anyway, hope it wasn't too confusing. But it's nice, no? However, I'm sorry to admit that at this point I do not have a clear idea of where I want the story to go. I expect anyone who reviews this chapter to offer me a suggestion of some sort. Make it meaningful, not just a "I agree with ----!" or something. Be honest, tell me what you think and what you want. Remember, I need five reviews, three of which must be from new readers to go on. I'm going to start to harass other Lion King fanfic authors now.

At this point in the game, anything can happen. I could have Freak attack someone, or everyone, or run. He could have peaceful relations with one or all groups, or none at all. The only thing that I don't really want to do is have him return to the Jungle, because that would just be boring. So yeah... tell me what you think.

And now, my fingers are really starting to hurt. Thanks a whole lot for contributing to me getting arthritis a couple decades down the road guys—I really appreciate it. :) Anyway, that's it for the moment. Next chapter will be up, as always, when I'm finished writing it. Just an FYI, for this fanfic, I normally spend a LONG block of time writing the chapter in one shot. No reviewing, no editing, I just put down my thoughts and submit it. But it seems to be working, so I don't care to do anything different.

So, see you next chapter as soon as I receive the mandated amount of reviews. This is al-Mujahid, see you around!)


	5. I Can't Trust You

The Lion King: The Freak  
Chapter 5: I Can't Trust You

* * *

(It is now February 18, 5:40PM EST. As I have received the mandated number of reviews, the overwhelming majority of them being positive, I've decided to start working on Chapter 5 now. I won't do it in one chunk as is my normal practice, but instead work on it for a couple of days, until I'm satisfied with it.

tearthgrrl: I did try to do T justice, seeing as how she's a very interesting original character. I look forward to finding out how her presence in this fanfic will affect the flow of events. And it is true that Freak isn't really Scar. But soon, I'll show you just how close he is to his father..

MattII: Sorry if it's a little angry for you, but meh. My goal, after all, is to make you cringe while reading it. I will have backstory about Chukizo's father. Maybe I'll even do a small crossover. Who knows. I'm also aware that in real-life, lion cubs are blind at birth for some time—but Freak is just that, a freak. If you're a stickler for realism, then I guess you could write off this totally unrealistic quirk as a result of his second-generation mixed parentage. Another backstory this chapter will relate to why the four hyena leaders owe Mganga favors, though I admit that when I wrote it I didn't really have a clue. I just saw it as a means for him to get revenge on Freak. It was interesting to write about how Mufasa isn't all he's cracked up to be in the movies, but that's just what I see. Why would Taka come to hate and even try to kill his brother? There's got to be more there than meets the eye, right? Jixtun: thanks for the compliment, I'm glad to hear that you like it. Freak is not alive, not in the sense that we think of the word. Though he eats, breaths, and sleeps, he has no emotions, and that's what truly makes a being alive. He's little more than an organic computer: a very smart, very dangerous one, but I do not believe that he has a soul. Not yet, maybe not ever. Read my summary... the sorry story of a tigon's son... It was also my goal to make the reader feel for Taka, even after he became Scar in the manner that I described. Makes you sort of angry at Mufasa and Simba, doesn't it? It also adds another level of drama—what will happen when the lions find out that Freak is in fact Scar's son? I'm glad to hear that you like the chase scene—I was trying to give the reader a sense of progressively increasing insanity. Freak has less and less options, and all groups converge with different feelings and goals in their hearts. As for a happy ending... I don't know if that's possible. There's a lot of hate between the four parties. The lions hate the hyenas, probably. The hyenas are resentful to the lions, probably. Usiku's feelings to the other hyenas are unknown. I will soon display how the lions will also have a good reason to hate Usiku, as well. Freak is hated by all, but he's used to that, sadly. I sense a battle royale coming up. Maybe.

Jagabor: Are there any fanfics with Uvulis being taken hostage? I didn't know. Meh... thought I was being cool and original.

BeeKay 84: I am genuinely sorry that my writing disturbs you so much. To anyone else wary of reading: if you don't think that it's for you, don't read. I won't be offended. I don't really know what a breeding fanfic is... but I assure you, Freak's parentage is what it is so that all the other animals have a reason to hate him. Or at least they think they do. I'm glad my descriptions are so powerful, thanks for that. But I can honestly say that I'm not disturbed by the sight of blood or bodies, not on an intellectual level. Still hits me in the gut sometimes though, if you know what I mean. I completely understand that you wouldn't want to add this to your community, it doesn't really fit in seeing as how it's not a direct sequel to TLK2. Not quite, anyway.

A warning to my readers... if you are upset by hate, anger, or violence, this fanfic is not for you. There will be very detailed descriptions of death. When I reread the bits about the way Chukizo and Taka were treated, I actually winced myself, despite writing it. Characters might even go mildly insane from the magnitude of rage they feel towards our good friend, Freak. Also, in this chapter, there will be a forced sexual relation. I won't get too graphic about it as I'm not a zoophile, but bear in mind, it will still be _plenty_ disturbing.

To anyone who's still reading this, despite my warnings to the dangers of doing so... enjoy! Flashback heavy, as promised. If you're really into this, for which I am most thankful, try listening to Apocalypse or Hunter by Jewper Kyd from the Hitman: Blood Money soundtrack, Mutter by Rammstein, Better of Two Evils by Marilyn Manson, Dead Boy's Poem by Nightwish, Wanted Dead or Alive by Bon Jovi, Deliverance by Bubba Sparxxx, The Way I Am Marilyn Manson Remix by Eminem and Marilyn Manson, and Synaesthetic by the Blue Man Group while reading.)

* * *

A young Sarabi, hardly at the age of sexual maturity, was playing on the edge of Pride Rock. She was laying on her back, playfully batting at a butterfly with her paws. Though she could have smashed it in a second if she wished to, the lioness was too kind and gentle to want to do that.

Suddenly, there was a roar, and she instinctively rolled to her feet, forgetting about the snow-white butterfly, and looking for the source of the commotion. Realizing that a dark figure was leaping over her, she dived to the side and turned.

Sarabi relaxed. It was only Mufasa. Arrogant and obnoxious though he may be, he was no threat. Not to her, anyway. The helpless butterfly was struggling in between his teeth, its wings beating their last, before it finally lay still, and the tan male let it fall to the ground. He looked at the insect, and then pushed it towards Sarabi with a paw.

"It's for you," he said, raising his head to look into the lioness's eyes.

Sarabi rolled her eyes and walked away. His frequent advances on her were tiring, and as much as she protested, he would always interrupt her play, barging in and giving her a 'gift' of some kind, or offering to do some hare-brained stunt.

The lioness sighed, and looked back into the den. There was Mufasa's brother, a lion that she could actually tolerate. Taka... it made Sarabi's heart twinge every time she heard or thought that name. He wasn't trash... just... misunderstood.

The dark lion slowly rose, blinking in the early morning light that penetrated even into the den. He saw that Sarabi was looking at him, and though he'd never admit it, least of all to his brother or the lioness herself... he had an interest in her. Taka smiled at Sarabi, blushing as he did so.

The lioness heard a footstep next to her, and looked to her left. Mufasa was there, livid with anger. He'd seen the way his brother reacted just from looking at Sarabi, though he remained out of Taka's field of vision. How many times had the tan juvenile told his brother that _he_ would make Sarabi his Queen? That _he_ was betrothed to her?

Taka heard a terrifying growl from outside of the cave, and perked up. None of the adult lions awoke, but he couldn't count on any of them to protect him anyway. The dark lion's heart sank when he saw Mufasa walking towards him, inexpressible rage written all over his face.

"Brother... it was an accident! I didn't mean to—"

But it was too late. The tan lion leaped towards his brother, and Taka knew better than try to evade his punishment. It would be that much worse for him if he did. But he couldn't help instinctively backing up when he saw his brother's razor-sharp claws come out, arcing straight for his face.

"_So he intends to kill me,"_ Taka thought, as he braced himself for the blow.

He felt a terrible, splitting, burning pain on his eye, and fell to the dusty ground. From far away, he heard Sarabi call, "Taka, Taka!" but he was too injured to respond.

The dark lion fell into unconsciousness, as blood leaked freely from his eye, and his brother put a large paw on his back. A moment later, an Earth-shattering roar was heard, as Mufasa permanently claimed his dominance over Scar... his own brother.

Later that night, Taka was being patched up by his mother. Though the lioness had by now gotten over most of the motherly attachment she felt towards her second-born, Uru still felt the need to make sure that he wouldn't die a slow death of infection. But, no one had even considered scolding Mufasa...

Tears falling from his good eye, the lion softly spoke up.

"Mother? ...Why can Muffy do this to me?" he whimpered.

The Queen sighed. There was no point in concealing the truth from him any longer. He was, after all, no longer a cub.

"Because... he is greater than you are."

Taka looked up, not understanding.

"You see... he will be the future King, whereas you would be lucky to be allowed to remain here; living on the fringes, always the odd one out, always the outlier."

More tears spilled from the dark lion's eye.

"But... why, Mother?"

Uru sighed again, then got up, and started to walk away.

"Because, my son... you are a freak," she said, then disappeared from Taka's view, leaving him alone.

He started to cry harder, but then managed to stop himself.

"_No... crying won't get me anywhere," _he thought, rubbing his face clean with his dark paws, being gentle around his injury.

"_I am... what I am. I will never be as great as Mufasa..."_

"_All that's left for me... is to serve him loyally, and love him unconditionally. He is my brother."_

Resigning himself to his fate, forever beneath the soles of Mufasa's paws, Taka could hold back the tears no longer.

A long way away, Sarabi sat, hidden in the grass, watching the scene unfold in front of her eyes. Needless to say, she too was shedding more than one tear in horror of what was happening. But she stopped abruptly, and slowly turned. A heavy footstep was heard behind her...

Mufasa walked next to Sarabi, an expression of apathy at best, distaste at worst on his face. He sat down, a little too close to the lioness for comfort. She managed to hide her revulsion at the proximity of such a hateful being, but her skin felt icy to the future King's touch.

The tan lion utterly ignored his brother, as well as Sarabi's apparent aversion to his presence. Instead, he pressed closer to her yet, and spoke into the cream-colored lioness's ear.

"Why do you only have eyes for _him_?" he asked.

Sarabi paused for a long moment, before answering.

"Because _he_, unlike _you_, is neither violent nor arrogant. He does not hurt friends without reason, and he is only compassionate."

Mufasa growled, and for a moment, the lioness thought he was going to attack her. But the tense moment quickly passed, as the tan lion looked at his paws. Sarabi heard him sigh, and there was a long, awkward silence before he spoke.

"I... will... _try_... to change. For you, Sarabi. And only for you. But never, _ever_ imagine that I was at fault today. Taka... he got what he deserved."

The lioness blushed. He could be kind of cute, when he dropped the tough-guy facade and opened up a little. But what about Taka... Sarabi shook her head out of it. While the dark lion would always hold a special place in her heart, he would never be a good provider... or father. The only one that could fill those roles adequately was Mufasa.

The lioness sighed in resignation. She did not love him. But he was the only possible choice. She might as well take him when she could, and hope for the best. After all... life is cruel.

"_Maybe someday... I can learn to love him,"_ Sarabi thought, as she started to nuzzle the future King.

* * *

The nine month old Freak was injured. Badly.

He'd fought a zebra, and very nearly lost However, in the end, it was the prey's life that had ended. It hadn't gone down easily: though the young li-tigon had easily caught it, he had neglected the instincts of his tiger grandfather. Something had told him to ambush his prey as in bursts, he was infinitely strong. He'd ignored that. He had very high stamina, and could run any animal in the Jungle down eventually.

Of course, he was able to catch the zebra, despite starting his attack from the far end of a plain. He'd see the dangerous tactic as a challenge, and knew that while he was a very dangerous animal... he was not as strong as he needed to be.

Bad decision.

It had taken him an exhausting five minutes of fast running to chase down the animal. After all, when lions attack their prey from long distances, they do so with back-up—and plenty of it. But Freak... he had no one.

"_Large animals, regardless of their status as prey to me, are threats. As is everyone else."_

Indeed, he'd taken more than one hit from the herbivore's sharp hooves. No bones had broken, fortunately, but he had serious bruising on his side. It was was only through finally following his tiger instinct and suddenly ambushing the downed zebra from an unexpected angle that he'd killed it.

"_Everyone is a threat,"_ he thought, as he finished his meal, living little more than skin, bones, and innards behind.

He had to try hard to not collapse due to his injuries on the way back to the cave. He would have to rest for quite some time, so that he'd heal, rendering the wounds less permanent than they would normally be.

"_I wonder"_ thought Freak, as he stumbled into his cave, his path barely visible in his rapidly blurring vision, _"if I had a mother, or father... would my life be different? Though I am a freak... would they still love me? Care for me?"_

"_Would I have a different name, instead of what beings currently know me as?"_

"_Would I have to go through, and give out so much pain?"_

Despite his bad physical, condition, the li-tigon thought long and hard. The answer, when it came, wasn't pretty.

"_There's no point in thinking about this. My mother, my father, my sister... they're all dead. There's not a being on this Earth that will ever care about me. Never."_

"_I am, and always will be, alone."_

"_Everyone is a threat."_

There was no one to go home to, no comforting arms to hold him tight and tell him that everything was going to be okay. There was only the thought that one day, he might find love from someone that had kept him going. But the more he thought about it, the more impossible it seemed.

"_After all, I am a freak. I can not and should not expect or even hope to find solace in anything."_

The li-tigon, though still barely out of cubhood, had had a nearly impossibly difficult life. From the time he was only minutes old, he'd had to care for himself: find his own food, defend himself from every other animal in the Jungle. But now that the thought of change was gone, his life was that much harder.

But he had no metaphorical heart to break. Being loved for only a few short minutes, minutes in which he was hardly self-aware, did not do much to give a being the capacity to understand emotions or the desire intrinsic to all: the desire to be wanted, to be cared for, if by even one other being.

"From now and ever on, I will be Freak," he said out loud, unknowingly speaking the exact same words in the exact same place that his father stood, just over two years ago.

The tiger roared in anger, batting his mighty paw against the unyielding steel bars that contained him.

But it was useless. The cage was too strong to be broken, and though he'd managed to surprise the last man that had come to feed him, biting off a finger, he was also unable to strike back at his captors in any significant way.

He threw himself into a corner in an act of hopelessness, holding his fluffy, orange head in his paws. His situation truly had no escape... and now that the humans were taking no chances around him, he'd gone without food for days now. His stomach growled, but the tiger ignored it. Hunger wasn't going to do him any good... it would just distract him.

He got back up, and paced back and forth in his cell. The steel bars held fast, no matter how hard he glared at them, willing them to melt away and let him go free. There had to be some way out... something. A weakness in the cage, a way to capture one of the humans and barter with the others for his escape... the tiger was desperate. Anything was acceptable at this point.

A loud thunk was heard, and it rocked the ship down to its very structure. The tiger jumped once in surprise, looking around in confusion, and barely concealed fear. All was silent for a moment, then a terrible, high-pitched tearing sound was heard, as if the very vessel was crying out in pain. Then, the water flooded in.

The rest of the dark area that he was in light up with the wild cries of all manner of wild animals; some predators, some prey, but all fearing for their lives. The tiger didn't care much for them... he had his own hide to worry about first, and the others hadn't so much as lifted a paw in their defense.

"_Pointless," _he thought.

"_Humans... they are the most destructive, hateful, and violent creatures on this world. I killed them for food... but it would taste a lie to say that I did not want to do it. After all... what else could my heart feel towards such beings, when I watched my mother and two brothers get cut down in front of me by their cruel bullets?"_

Incredibly, however, yelling was heard from the deck. Two humans rushed down the stairs, into the containment zone, keys in their hands. The tiger instantly perked up, praying that they'd have mercy—

Every animal had been released by the humans. Foxes, felines, monkeys, and even a rare big cat... an Asiatic lioness. Though the men regarded her with fear as they cowered behind the door of the cage, even as water poured into the ship, she only looked them each in the eye, and bowed her head low, before bounding away.

Finally, the humans came to his cage. One of them, a young white man, probably straight from London on a hunting trip, put the key into the keyhole, struggling with it to open. Sweating, he knew that there were only minutes left until the ship capsized—

But his companion, a big, tough-looking Punjabi from the near tiger's home put a calloused hand on the boy's shoulder. The Brit looked up, but the Indian was glaring at the tiger, ignoring the other man.

The tiger looked at the man, and though he could not speak any tongue that humans understood, his eyes said it all.

"_Please..."_ he begged.

"_If you let me out... I swear, I'll never lay a paw on another human again."_

The dark man grinded his teeth in hatred, and spoke.

"Sher Kahn... so-called King of the Jungle," he spat into the now damp cat's cage, "on your accursed paws lie the blood of untold dozens of my people. My own brother was scarred by you, and it was by our efforts that you were allowed to live. ...I may as well tell you, so that you can fully understand how terrible of a being you are."

"You were to be taken to a zoo... living on the charity of humans, our plaything... something that the children of the fortunate could come to, to marvel at you like the fiendish beast that you are," the man snarled, and even the tiger backed away.

The water kept coming, as inexorably as the increasing frequency and strength behind the white boy's desperate taps on his companion's shoulder.

"May you drown in here, O King of the Jungle, O Man-Eater. You will be missed by no one, and if, God-willing, I survive this disaster... I shall give thanks every day to your slow, humiliating, and much-deserved destruction."

Lightning cracked across the sky, and Sher Kahn lunged at the cage. The bars shook more than ever, but the man just laughed, a maniac, evil sound, as his friend and another human finally pulled him up the stairs. The water kept flowing, and even over the rain and sounds of destruction, the man could be heard laughing, from the distance, as he got into his lifeboat.

Sher Kahn was now beyond trying. He collapsed in his cage, out of exhaustion, hunger, and almost gave up then and there. But the sound of a big cat coming down the stairs rekindled a cautious spark of hope in his heart, and he looked at the young lioness, and begged.

"Dear lady... please, aid me," he cried, stretching out his paws to grovel at her feet.

But the cold Asiatic cat merely swatted them away, as she looked around, sniffing for something. Then, she disappeared into her cage, coming back a moment later, carrying a large side of meat. After all, she'd need something to fuel the long trip to shore.

The tiger's drool spilled out of his mouth at the sight and smell of the food so near him. Even if she wasn't going to help him... she might ease his last moments in this world by allowing him to leave it with at least some food in his stomach. There was plenty of meat, surely she could spare some...

The lioness's eyes seemed to laugh at the tiger, as she looked at him from the other side of the cage. And, much to Sher Kahn's dismay, she left, tail fluttering out of his sight, not even a sliver of meat thrown in his direction.

He roared again, hoping that someone, would come, anyone. Anything.

And it did.

The boat rocked again, struck even harder. Sher Kahn was thrust off his feet, straight into one of the steel bars. He felt a powerful impact, and fell into blackness.

He couldn't have been unconscious for more than a few seconds, as he came to unable to breathe. Water had filled the boat, and it was slowly sinking, dragging along with it the tiger... but there was a rapidly closing window of opportunity. Somehow, the cage had collapsed, nearly crushing the tiger. However, the hateful steel bars had bent under the pressure, and now they parted just wide enough for him to slip out—

Tigers are very interesting big cats. Unlike nearly all other felines, they actually enjoy spending time in the water, and are quite capable swimmers. Even Sher Kahn had spent many a humid afternoon cooling off in one of the various pools in his homeland.

But the water that surrounded him now, pressing on his chest, as if trying to choke the very life out of him was nothing like the relaxing fluid that he knew. The tiger swam as quickly as he could, be he was already fifty feet down, and the ship was still sinking. Sher Kahn dodged falling cargo, squeezed through opening after too-small opening before he finally broke free of the vessel.

But the surface was still fifty feet upwards, and the tiger had almost no air left. Feeling as if his lungs were about to explode from the effort, the tiger clamped his mind on only one thought.

"_Get to the surface. Survive."_

He managed to concentrate the remaining strength of his starving, oxygen-deprived body into moving his limbs, slowly but surely carrying him to the stormy surface of the ocean—

The tiger broke through the surface. Gasping, he looked around, his eyes met with a terrible scene.

The gigantic ship was sinking, and off in the far distance, the tiger could see the lifeboat of humans drift away. There were no other animals in sight... either they'd drowned, or left his rather limited field of view. Another fork of lightning cracked through the air, and Sher Kahn looked up just in time to see a huge wave crash on his head...

The tiger was thrust back underwater, with absolutely no air in his lungs. Worse, the wave had pulverized his already weak body, rendering his rippling muscles useless, and extinguishing what little hope remained in the cat's heart. He struck something hard, and once again, blacked out.

A long time later, the tiger realized that he was still alive, and could breathe freely. The storm still raged on, albeit in the distance, and he'd miraculously managed to end up caught among some broken timbers of wood. Sher Kahn tried to get up and look around, but it was useless. Fatigue, exhaustion, and the hunger that was gnawing at his innards more than ever finally got the best of him, and he fell asleep, half-dead, on his makeshift raft.

The tiger's eyes flickered open, then quickly shut again. It was too bright. He lapsed back into unconsciousness...

"_Too bright?"_

Sher Kahn forced himself to open his eyes, fully, and was able to bear the hot sun and burning sands of the beach that he'd ended up on, after his feline pupils rapidly contracted. Far in the south, a forest lay... it reminded him vaguely of his home. But it was in the distance... far out of his reach. And everywhere else... was a terrible, expansive desert.

"_It's so barren..."_

"_Must fate always take me from a bad situation to a worse one?"_

"_I thought things were bad when I watched my family get killed in front of me, and had to grow up alone, learning to hunt and live, all the way, fueled only by my hatred of man,"_ the tiger shuddered at the thought of the horrible, bipedal beast that was a thousand times more evil than he.

"_I thought things were bad when I tried to kill that accursed man-cub, Mowgli, and he nearly burned me to my death."_

"_I thought things were bad when I survived, and attempted once again to kill him, only to be trapped in a situation that made my death all but certain."_

"_I thought things were bad when I was captured, beaten, and starved by those other men."_

"_I thought things were bad when the ship started to go down."_

"_I thought things were bad when all of the other animals, except for myself, were released so that they could at least have a chance at survival."_

"_I thought things were bad when the man cursed me, and damned me to die in that terrible cage."_

"_I thought things were bad when another being, a sister cat, had the ability to help me, or at least ease my suffering, and she didn't..."_ the tiger snarled, feeling his hatred of men extend to hatred towards all other forms of life.

He smelled in the air, and roared in rage. The Asiatic lioness's scent... was strong in the air. She'd survived, and come to that very spot. Looking around, Sher Kahn saw tracks leading from the forest to his spot and continuing off into the other direction. But the tiger was too out of it to try to follow, or even wonder what had happened.

His stomach growled no more, and Sher Kahn understood. There was nothing he could do no to prevent starvation. No prey was in sight, and he had no strength to catch it, especially not on a strange, foreign shore. Death was as inevitable as the sunset... a sunset that he'd never see.

"_At least I may die with dignity,"_ he thought, shaking the water off of his lanky form, curling up to sleep his last...

A short while later, the tiger woke again. He was bitter, now... would fate not even allow him to die peacefully? Instead, it sent an annoying young lioness to fiddle with his near-corpse of a body. His ears flittered, and he slowly opened his eyes.

"What do you think it is?" came a hushed, low-pitched, but very feminine voice.

"I don't know... hey, I think it's waking up," said another one.

"Indeed, I am," growled Sher Kahn, as he suddenly lashed out, cleanly cutting through the first lioness's throat with a claw.

He watched as thick blood flew from the injury, spilling out onto the hot desert sand, dyeing it a horrible reddish hue. The female slumped back, eyes glazed over, as her friend looked on in horror.

"Murderer!" she screamed, striking his face with her claws.

Sher Kahn's head was turned from that blow, and three jagged, bleeding lines were visible on his face, as if highlighting his pure black stripes. But he looked back at the lioness after a moment, with hatred in his eyes.

He hit her back, thrice as hard, despite his near-death state. All the very young lioness, not even quite out of cubhood could see was his large, muscled paw race towards her... it occurred to her how much smaller than him she was.

The blow knocked the tan cat into the air, and she bounced across the hot desert sand, nearly unconscious. But she was still alive, and still aware. She just couldn't move, not yet. Which meant that she could watch, but not resist, as the tiger positioned himself behind her.

"Yours will be a fate worse than death," rasped Sher Kahn, knowing that his own would be in minutes... he only just had enough time left.

"No..." gasped the lioness.

The tiger laughed, and mounted his forced mate.

"May you be... as cursed as I have been, child," said the striped cat, as he started the unspeakable act.

A terrible scream echoed across the desert, bouncing off of sand dunes and the occasional palm, but piercing the hearts of all beings that were unfortunate enough to hear it.

Several minutes later, the tiger fell away, dead. His face bore an expression neither of peace nor hate... just that of a being that had lived a hard life, and lived it full out. His eyes were open... but the lioness did not close them. In fact, she couldn't bear to even look at or be around him any more.

The female ran as fast as she could, tears flowing from her eyes. Her diminutive paws raced through the desert, but they did nothing to take her away from her pain. It was always there, as constant as the sun beating down on her shoulders.

She felt something in her body change, and she suddenly lost balance. Screaming, she was hurled through the air by her own momentum, sliding across the burning hot sand. She lay still, more tears leaking out of her eyes.

"_My Gods... I am too young to be pregnant."_

But fate was fate, and it was as irreversible as the flow of time. The lioness's fate was sealed, as certain as the death of her rapist, and as certain as the sunset that would come later in the day; as cruel as the eventual fate that meets us all.

* * *

The young monkey shed a tear.

He'd tried so hard... but the lizard was dead. And his knowledge of medicines were useless in the face of that final boundary. There was no more he could do: nothing would bring the poor animal back to life.

Mganga had found the lizard as it was fighting off a crow. He'd stepped in, bashing the bird in the side with a branch. Hard enough to sting and be a good deterrent to the attack, but not quite powerful enough to cause an injury. After all... the monkey had had his hands full with even the lizard to worry about.

He climbed down from the tree, carefully cradling the reptilian's limp form in his hands. He knelt down on the ground, and dug up a sizable hole in the ground with one hand, then gently placed the dead animal in it, covering it back up with dirt. As an afterthought, Mganga grabbed a nearby flowering plant, and after eating one blossom, placed the other on the lizard's makeshift grave.

"A fallen brother in the some times cruel Circle of Life. I will see you in the next world, my friend... travel well."

"_I will see you... along with many others."_

The monkey sighed, but didn't need to try to stop tears from flowing. He was no longer a baby, capable, if barely, of taking care of himself. He'd never quite known what had happened to his parents. One day, they said they were going out to search for relatives... but they'd never returned. He'd cried that day, for hours.

But crying now would do no more good. Mganga held the pain of losing his parents at a young age in his heart alone, but ever since they'd disappeared without him being able to help them... he'd made it his personal mission to save every creature that he could. On an intellectual level, he knew that it was the sad fate of predators to hunt. But sometimes, when he saw one animal try to prey on another, he found himself fighting the hunter, incapable of bearing the thought of another animal dying.

Even if it was necessary.

He'd lost many animals... some had died in front of his eyes, as he approached the scene. Others, he'd been able to keep alive for hours. And for some... there'd never been any hope from the beginning. Like the lizard.

"_He was cut along the spine... many broken ribs. Internal bleeding. Organ damage. Nothing in my power could have helped him. His death was... inevitable."_

But that didn't stop Mganga from feeling sorrow every time he witnessed death. No matter how much of it he'd had to witness in his life.

The young monkey lived in the northwestern part of the Jungle, for the time being anyway. There were too many of them in the area... soon, some of them would have to leave and travel to another part of the Jungle. Some would even have to go as far as the southern lobe, through the dreaded Dark Zone.

"_Maybe that's where they went. To look for a home for us. Maybe they didn't want me to worry... they knew that I would go along and try to save them. But whatever demon lurks there... can't be fought."_

In truth, however, the great serpent of the Dark Zone had not been responsible for the deaths of Mganga's parents. Not entirely, anyway. At the time, the snake wasn't so large that it needed to eat two monkeys in order to have a full stomach. One would suffice. What had actually happened after Mganga's mother had turned around to find her mate missing was the feeling of a great pressure being exerted on either side of her head—then blackness. Her death had contributed to the life of a rather unwelcome resident of the Jungle: the often-cursed freak, Chukizo.

But the monkey knew none of this. Rumors of the strange li-tigon hadn't quite reached that part of the Jungle. Not yet, anyway, and it would be longer still before they were treated with any credence. More troubling were the rumors of the worsening situation of hyenas to the north. Many animals of the Jungle, all of them small enough to be targeted by the dog-like predators as food, worried that though hyenas are not really adapted to life in that sort of habitat... they'd be forced to, and would evolve. At the expense of the beings already there.

The monkey sighed. Earlier, he'd heard of a small scouting party of hyenas, four of them, had been bold enough to travel from their home in the Outlands a good while into the Jungle. But no one knew what had become of them. Rumor was it that they'd somehow been injured too badly to press on or go back. For the most part, the Jungle's residents were happy: the deaths of the scout party would not bode well for the other hyenas, and with luck, the Jungle would remain relatively safe.

But Mganga knew that if the hyenas were injured... they'd need help. His help. He cared not that they were predators or foreigners to the Jungle. He only saw four beings that he might be able to save. If they even existed.

He swung through the trees, every now and again pausing, checking the air for an unusual smell. For the first two hours, his search was fruitless, even as he traveled further to the northwest.

Suddenly, Mganga stopped. His nostrils told him that there were animals, three or four of them, that he'd never sensed before in his vicinity. And intuition told him that that made sense. This particular part of the Jungle was more or less ignored by the monkeys and other herbivores, as it contained a certain kind of flower. They were huge, six feet across, and smelled like meat. They fed on flies and animals as big as small rodents that were stupid or unfortunate enough to be allured by their seemingly intoxicating odor. However... their epicenter was highly acidic. Enough to char a limb to the bone, rendering movement virtually impossible.

The monkey pressed on towards the sources of the smell, noticing that the acrid scent of burnt flesh was getting stronger.

"_If it's burned too badly... the best I can do is amputate the limb and try to prevent the wound from being infected. I hope I'm in time..."_

He jumped down from the treetop, landing near a small hole under the roots of a particularly large one. Sure enough, he could hear the characteristic whimpers and whines of hyenas in pain. Listening in, he noticed that there were indeed four, though one seemed a good bit younger than the others.

"Ed... we told ya not ta go near that freaky thing!" said a rather harsh-sounding female voice.

"Yeah, man—you coulda gotten us all killed!" added an annoying masculine tenor.

"Come on, guys... no point in yelling at him about it now. He won't do it again. Right, Ed?" questioned a tough but very feminine alto.

There was a rattling noise, followed by a soft whine, then a collective sigh.

"What're we gonna do?"

At that, Mganga appeared in the entrance to the veritable hole in the ground, much to the surprise of the hyenas. They leaped to their feet, or at least tried to. Only the apparent leader, the angry-sounding female managed to shakily stand.

"Get outta here!" she hissed, partly in anger, mostly in pain.

The monkey just looked over his 'patients'. Not good, but not irreparable either. The leader had a superficial but painful splash of acid on her side that had burned right through her fur, exposing bloody, pink flesh underneath. The other female was worse, with the flesh on her underbelly totally bare. One of the males had taken a more serious wound to the forelimbs, and he had a significant amount of muscle damage.

But the other male was worst. His face, forelimbs and chest looked like they'd been bathed in the vile liquid, that's how bad the injuries were. There was little muscle damage on his forelimbs and chest... but his face would take weeks to get back to normal. If it ever would. His speech would be crippled for life.

Mganga had more or less forgotten the fact that he was in a hole with only one escape and four predators that, while injured, were still very dangerous, especially to such a young monkey.

The leader, the female on her feet, managed to speak again.

"The Hell you want around here anyway?"

His eyes flashed when he saw the direness of the situation. Though she was on her feet, she couldn't remain so for long. And the more she did, the worse it would be for her health. And if there was still acid on her...

The monkey moved too quickly for the injured hyenas to react to. In their blurred eyes, it was like he was standing in the entrance one second, then at Shenzi's side the next, feeling her wound.

Understandably, the female was upset, and snapped her jaws at Mganga. However, the stress of the maneuver was just too much for her to take, and she fell down; fortunately on her unburnt side.

"What are you _doin'_?" she asked, groggily.

"You're hurt... I have to help you," the monkey reached down, touching the leader's flesh with his finger, and yanking it back quickly at the pain he felt on the tip of the digit.

"Curses... there's still acid there. Do you still feel it burning?" he asked, fearing that she had nerve damage.

Shenzi gritted her sharp teeth, and answered, "Yeah..."

"That's good. Your nerves are still working. If I move quickly, you'll all be better soon—"

With that, the monkey ran off. The hyenas barely registered this, and one by one, they all fell into a nightmarish, pain-induced slumber...

It was hours until they woke up. But when they did, they found that moving was still too painful, and were forced to lay down, and try to catch a few extra minutes of sleep. One of them, however, the youngest hyena, the female, had the presence of mind to sniff the air.

"That monkey... he's been taking care of us."

The hyenas looked each other over. Indeed, each had a slathering of a sweet-smelling herb on his or her wounds. Ed felt his face over with a gentle paw, and realized that leaves of some kind were wrapped over his grievous nose injury.

"Now why in da Hell would he do somethin' like that?" asked Banzai.

Mganga entered, looking over the four predators. He was carrying more leaves and a paste that smelled bitter. But this time, the hyenas didn't jump up at his sudden appearance.

"Because..." he suddenly chuckled, "you looked like you needed care."

The four hyenas smiled collectively at that, knowing that this was a being that had helped them without the thought of any reward or benefit. He should have left them to slowly succumb to injuries and infection, as that would have kept his home safe. But instead, he went through a great deal of trouble to help them. For that, the Jungle would remain off-limits to all hyenas, despite the dire situation that the dog-like animals were in. And, from then on, Mganga was their friend.

* * *

Ed was drooling at the sight of the dead monkey. After all, he hadn't eaten properly for weeks, and in front of his eyes was fresh, warm food. But something clicked in his erratic mind, and he tapped Banzai with his paw, whining, and looking pointedly at the monkey's face.

"Ed, shaddap! Can't ya see there's somethin'—" he suddenly broke off his annoyed whisper, as he too recognized the primate.

"Hey—that's Mganga! He saved us back when we were goin' ta tha Jungle!" he suddenly said.

Shenzi and T looked away from Freak, knowing that the lions would step in if he tried anything, and turned their gazes just a few degrees downward towards the monkey.

Shenzi's tired eyes suddenly opened totally, as she made the connection. It was indeed Mganga... but he'd changed, somehow. From a compassionate and caring being, into one whose every emotion for the past few years had been either rage, or hopelessness.

"Oh my Gods..." said T, and she started to take a tentative step towards the monkey.

She was stopped both by a growl from Freak, and Shenzi's paw in front of her chest. The younger hyena glared at the li-tigon, hatefully, and gave a curt nod as Shenzi slowly, meaningfully shook her head at her adoptive sister.

Simba roared again, though not nearly as loud as before. It was just his way of showing that he was in control—even if that was not the case.

"Enough!" he shouted, glaring at both the hyenas for second, then Freak for far longer.

"Now... tell me what's going on," he said to Usiku, as he was rather disturbed by Freak's appearance.

The black hyena got to his feet, and set his daughter down behind him, away from the li-tigon. The other hyenas also put themselves in the path between him and the baby, though Freak knew that if he really wanted to kill her... he would do so. They might be able to injure him, but they would never be able to stop him. He was not impressed by Usiku's tough figure—the li-tigon knew that he was twice as fast, and thrice as smart.

"Simba, King of the Pride Lands, I am Usiku of the Bloody Shadows."

The tan lion nodded, and the tightness of his eyes decreased. A well-established lioness in his pride, Msafiri, had traveled from the Desert of the South through the Lower Plains, then the Bloody Shadows, and finally the Outlands to reach the Pride Lands. There, she'd finally dropped her nomadic nature, though she'd never really said why she'd left the Desert. However, Simba, for some reason, couldn't shake the feeling that she was somehow not ethnically related to the Desert pride.

"An abomination took all I cared about from me," was the most she'd ever mentioned.

"I was hired, by the late Mganga, to end the freak that sits opposite us," he said, giving the li-tigon a baleful glare.

"The monkey, huh..." said Simba, as he pondered what to do.

"And why are you not attacking him now? He could have killed your daughter!" said the Lion King, gesturing at the now complacent Uvuli.

Usiku bared his teeth, glaring at Freak again. He tensed up his legs, as if about to pounce on him, and the lions followed their leader in lowering into defensive postures—

But the black hyena tore his eyes away from the li-tigon, grinding his teeth as he replied to Simba.

"I can't. As an assassin of the Bloody Shadows," Simba was unimpressed by the title, he'd met assassins before, "I am sworn to not kill another animal, except in predation, unless I am paid to do so. And, unlike my father... I do not have a taste for the flesh of another predator."

Simba shook his head. If anyone, much less a lone freak, tried to harm his daughter, that being would have a short but fatal meeting with the King's claws and teeth.

"Fine," he said, turning to the li-tigon, and looking him up and down.

Freak was calmly sitting down, watching the scene unfold in front of him. He vaguely considered eating Mganga, after all, the monkey was still quite fresh, and right in front of him... but that would take his attention off of the other predators—almost certain threats. He hadn't missed the way the hyenas reacted when they recognized Mganga as a being who had apparently helped them.

"Who..._ what_... are you?" Simba asked Freak, his claws extended just a little.

"My name is Freak... and that is what I am," replied the li-tigon, extending his claws as well.

Simba growled at the answer, as well as the apparent resemblance the stranger had to the Uncle that he still hadn't forgiven.

"Don't lie to me," he said, lowering himself, ready to pounce.

At that, the three other lions began to fan out, positioning themselves so that if it did come to a fight, they could surround and attack him from all angles. Growling, the hyenas held their positions, still under the belief that Uvuli was in danger.

Freak, meanwhile just glanced around, taking in the situation. He didn't lower himself, knowing that if he did and was surrounded, he was in more danger. But if he stayed sitting, he could jump into the air and run, or slash the backs of any aggressor's neck with his claws. Still, he knew that things didn't have to go that far...

"It wasn't a lie. I am known as Freak, in the Jungle. As to what I am... My mother was Chukizo, and I do not know what she was. My father, whose nature I am also unaware of, was Scar."

Simba's eyes flashed, and anger at the newcomer for being both a freak and the son of Scar overwhelmed him. He roared, going into a long, high jump, so that he could claw Freak and follow up with his teeth. At the same time, the other lions quickly moved to surround him, and Usiku and the other hyenas dropped low, in case Uvuli needed protecting—

Cold reasoning took Freak over, and from the corners of his eye he could see that the other lions were cutting off his exit, but not attacking. Apparently, they wanted to leave him to their leader. Their mistake.

The li-tigon moved as well, but not into a jump. He raced forward, and before the son of Mufasa could react, took advantage of her dense bone structure. Freak ruthlessly headbutted the King in the chest, nearly breaking his sternum open as he did. Simba fell away, and the other lions, enraged by the sudden, resounding defeat of their leader, all attacked.

Nala and Kiara came from 10 o'clock and 2 o'clock respectively, while Kovu moved in from Freak's six. Knowing better than to try to engage all of them at once, Freak paused for a brief second, thinking, until the best way out of the situation seemed obvious.

He roared at the two lionesses, and they faltered for a moment, afraid. Kovu, though, as Freak predicted, was only enraged more, and was only feet from Freak's rear when the li-tigon reacted—

The dark lion saw two muscled legs shoot out, then stars in the sky. He felt his body impact the ground on its back, and tasted blood. Freak had viciously kicked him in the face, then shot around the back of the lion as he bounced to the ground. Before the lionesses could do anything to stop him, he had his paw, claws extended, on Kovu's neck, and pressed down, half-strangling the nearly unconscious cat.

The Shadow Land hyenas growled at the sight of Simba, who they still felt allegiance to, being struck down. They were about to pounce on Freak, taking advantage of the fact that Uvuli was apparently out of danger, but Kiara stopped them.

"NO!" the lioness screamed, turning to face the four.

"If you do something... he'll kill Kovu."

"_Damn right I would,"_ thought Freak, as he considered his next move.

Simba unsteadily got to his feet, and shook his head, clearing his vision. Though he tried not to show it... the blow had hurt him a great deal. He growled when he saw that the li-tigon had taken his son-in-law hostage, but knew better than to attack again. So, instead of trying to order the stranger to release Kovu, he tried talking again.

"Scar... was a lion of this pride," he muttered, glaring at the li-tigon.

"Was... so he is dead," said Freak, with not a hint of emotion in his voice.

"Do you want to know how he lived, and what made him die?" asked Simba.

Cold hatred had taken over the Lion King, and though he couldn't physically hurt Freak, not with his son-in-law in danger, he could still attack him in other ways. So, without waiting for an answer, he spoke on.

"He killed his brother—my father—and tried to kill me as well... for power. I escaped, and came back after years in your Jungle. We fought, and I won, but let him live. I told him to go, but he betrayed his friends, the hyenas. He was in turn eaten by them, and as he left this world, the hyenas forever left the Pride Lands," the King finished with a pang.

"That ends now," he said, and looked at the hyenas, who gasped, in cautious hopes of what he meant—

"From now on... you and the rest of your family will be welcome in the Pride Lands. It's been too long... you've all had hard lives since the time of my grandfather. And I've been... wrong... to forget you."

The hyenas gasped, then bowed low, sobbing onto each others shoulders. They were not tears of happiness.

"S—King..." started Shenzi, "I can't say enough ta thank you fer what ya just did. But... we're the only ones out of our fam'ly left. The others... they were... killed... earlier today. Brutally."

Simba was saddened. So, he was already too late to save all of them... but being that he was no their King, and responsible for their safety, he though it his duty to find out who had killed all of his subjects. For the moment, he ignored Freak, though Nala and Kiara were still ready and waiting to tear him apart.

"Who... could have done this?"

"_It seems like those four don't know it was me. But the other one, Usiku, he does. And I know better than to hope that he won't tell."_

Sure enough, the black hyena spoke up.

"It was the freak, my lord," said Usiku, sadistically smiling at the li-tigon.

Simba turned towards Freak with murder in his eyes, starting to take a step towards the stranger, but was abruptly stopped when he saw Kovu's neck get depressed another inch. At Kiara's terrified gasp, the Lion King spoke up.

"Who are you? Why did you come here? To bring pain to my subjects? My son-in-law? What do you want, you FREAK?!" he ended on a roar.

Predictably, Freak was unphased, and took a moment to gather his thoughts before speaking.

"I have already told you who I am. I came here.. because I saw him, Kovu," he said, nodding towards his hostage, "and her in the Jungle. I was... curious. I'd never seen another big cat before, not since my first day old. As to what I want..." Freak broke off.

Truth be told, he didn't know what he wanted out of life. He didn't even know why he struggled so hard to stay alive.

Simba shook his head in disgust.

"Fine. Keep your secrets. But why did you kill all of their people?" he growled, gesturing to the still sobbing group of hyenas; such was their pain that Uvuli was now softly crying as well, and even Usiku looked affected.

"I was staying in the northwest, I think you call it the Shadow Lands. I had to eat. I took the occasional prey animal that wandered into that wretched place. I ate... and they starved. I was found, and they attacked me. I defended myself. I had to."

The Lion King didn't know what to say to that. If the freak was telling the truth, there was no moral flaw in what he'd done. But Simba didn't want that to be true...

"What right do you even have to be here?" he growled.

Freak didn't know how to answer. He'd never been welcomed or even accepted anywhere, but he sensed that saying that he didn't care would not be smart. So he carefully answered, in as gentle terms that he could.

"The same right that all of us, as sons and daughters of the Circle of Life, have to be on this Earth. It was not my goal to cause the deaths of the hyenas, or bring pain to... anyone. But I had to. If I hadn't done what I did, I would be dead."

"Not unlike yourself, Simba. How many animals have you killed in your life? Out of hunger? Out of necessity? You know well that life feeds on death, even if you do not recognize it."

The tan lion growled, but made no response. Everything Freak was saying made sense, pragrmatically. But the fact remained that he'd killed so many hyenas, and still held Kovu hostage.

"Release him," the Lion King commanded in an authoritative tone.

"No," plainly replied Freak, "if I do, you'll all attack me. And I can't fight all of you at once. I have to live."

Simba growled again, and lowered himself, preparing to pounce.

"I said, release my son-in-law, you murderous freak."

"I won't. And don't think that you can somehow attack me before I kill him," he extended his claws, placing on just next to Kovu's jugular.

The Lion King roared, in anger and frustration. What could he possibly do to protect his son-in-law?

"Just let him go, and leave!"

Freak still shook his head.

"I can't do that, either. I know that there are many lionesses in your tribe, and though I can sense no others now, that doesn't mean that they're not around here, somewhere. I could be surrounded at this very moment."

Simba growled in hopelessness.

"What do you want?" he asked, almost begging the li-tigon.

He cared about Kovu very much...

"To live," Freak simply replied, "It's all I've ever wanted."

Simba blinked in confusion at that, and spoke without any sort of ulterior goal this time.

"That's it? You only want to stay alive? You never want to find a pride? A mate? Start a family? You don't even want power, like your father?"

The li-tigon shook his head.

"I have no desire to do any of those things."

"You don't want to find love?" Simba asked, in a small voice for a King.

Freak tilted his head to the side at the unfamiliar word. He searched his memory, then remembered what it meant.

"I don't understand your question," he said.

It was true. Being that he was nearly a full grown lion, right in between Kiara and Kovu in terms of age, he could scarcely remember the few minutes that he'd shared with his mother, and no longer could connect any emotion to it.

Simba thought of how to explain it. He didn't know, so he tried to ask more questions.

"Love... it's what your mother and father give to you... it's what families feel to one another... it's why I want you to release my daughter's mate," he said pathetically, jerking his head to the tearful Kiara.

Freak thought again, trying to remember...

"I never met my father. And I only spent a few minutes with my mother. I have never been part of a family. And I do not care about anyone. I don't understand," said Freak, but for some reason, he felt a desire, almost a hunger to understand.

The lions and hyenas took a collective gasp. Now, they were slowly starting to imagine the hardships that this being must have been through to still be standing in front of him today, forget that he was still restricting Kovu's breathing.

Simba looked around. At the four still crying hyenas, at the cold Usiku, at the baby, at his Queen, and at his daughter. But there was nothing, no way to make him understand what love is. The Lion King had not had an easy life. Barely out of cubhood, he'd had to flee his homeland and live in a strange environment, but even there, he'd found friends. He'd had to fight for his kingdom, but even then, he had support. He'd had to listen to the peaceful, compassionate words of his daughter and son-in-law to prevent another war...

"_Maybe that's it."_

"_This whole time, I've been asking myself what Father would do. But maybe... maybe I have to ask myself, what would Kovu and Kiara do?"_

The Lion King pondered the difficulty of the position for a moment, but then the answer came to him.

"If you put Kovu down... we won't harm you. You have my word. We'll even welcome you into the Pride Lands, and offer you protection against anything that tries to hurt you."

Everybody was surprised. Nala and Kiara seemed to agree with the idea of allowing Freak to leave, but they sharply turned their heads to look at him for a tense second before looking back at the li-tigon. The hyenas, who were now finished in their sorrow at the loss of their family, and in the joy of once again being subjects of the Pride Lands felt more than a little desire to harm Freak. Usiku just seemed apathetic. After all, as long as Uvuli remained safe... he cared not what happened.

But the li-tigon shook his head, almost sadly.

"There's no way that you can convince me that I won't be harmed. I can't trust you, Simba."

Simba was tearing up now. He could see that Kovu's gasps were getting shallower and shallower.

"Please..." begged, then an idea hit him.

He suddenly walked towards Freak, who growled, and brought his claw ever closer to the dark lion's throat. However, instead of attacking, much to the horror of Nala, Kiara, and the newest four subjects of the Pride Lands, he rolled over on to his back, exposing his neck.

"We're not your enemies," he said, though the looks that every single other being in the area gave to the li-tigon said otherwise.

"Just one question..." Freak asked, as he slowly sheathed his claw, "you said that my father, Scar, was the brother of your father. Does that make us... family?" he asked, an undertone of elation almost audible in his voice.

The Lion King laughed once, then answered.

"Yeah... I guess it does."

There was a pause.

"_This is foolish. They could be lying. They're still threats."_

"_Wrong They are family. Like Mother. They want to help me."_

"_Those four killed Father."_

"_They had to. He betrayed them."_

"_They could betray you."_

"_They won't. They are family."_

"I've observed families from afar for most of my life. They seem to... trust each another, unconditionally. I never dreamed that I'd ever be part of one... but if that's how it is..."

The li-tigon had come to his decision. The lionesses's eyes widened as Freak slowly took his muscled paw off of Kovu's neck, and even rolled the dark lion onto his feet so that he could breath normally.

Kiara couldn't restrain herself any more. She rushed over to her mate's side, even as Freak prepared to fight, and nuzzled him, crying, as he coughed, gasping for air.

"I thought you were gone," she said, rubbing her head against his neck.

Kovu coughed once more, then answered with a goofy smile.

"It'll take a lot more than that," he said.

But the dark lion's expression hardened as he turned around to face the li-tigon.

"I have to live too, son of Scar. Kiara needs me. So if you ever try anything again—" he was cut off

"Kovu!" Simba growled, in a voice that reminded him and Nala of his late father, shaking his head at his son-in-law.

Kovu growled at Freak for a moment, before tossing his head and walking away towards the waterhole. After a moment, Kiara did the same. Nala ignored the li-tigon entirely, just continued behind her daughter and son-in-law, and the four hyenas soon followed as well. But they abruptly stopped at Mganga's body.

"He was our friend..." said T.

"Yeah... he was... th' greatest monkey that ever lived," commented Banzai, looking sadly at the monkey.

Ed nodded, giving a sound that sounded like his brain was rattling around in his skull, though his expression was one of pain as well.

"He took care of us," said Shenzi, "so that we could live. If he was alive, he'd want us ta use his body fa what we could, since he ain't got a use for it no more."

T gasped at what the other female said, but couldn't disagree: she knew it was true. Cruel, but true.

"Life feeds on death," she muttered, as she opened her jaws, along with the three other hyenas.

Starvation has been known to drive beings to terrible extremes. Cannibalism, the consumption of corpses, predating on animals that are normally impossible to eat...if a being is driven to an extreme desperate enough, there is little he will not do. And the hyenas were predators. They did what was natural, nothing more.

But it was hard, at least for T, to look into the eyes of the being that had selflessly come to her aid so long ago, while eating of his flesh. But in the end, she managed to do it. After all... eyes are nutritious.

* * *

At Pride Rock, Msafiri, the rapidly aging Asiatic lioness allowed her thoughts to drift years back.

"_Who... did this?" she'd asked of the new head lioness._

_The young, harsh female sniffed around the scene, and her eyes narrowed._

"_Chukizo."_

_Chukizo... the freak. So, it was her claws that were dirty with the blood of her son. Her accursed, abominable appendages._

_Msafiri had spent her life traveling. One town in India to another, always looking for somewhere to call home. To protect her species, she'd been captured and sent to London as part of a conservation effort. But the ship had struck a reef, and she'd managed to escape. Not after ignoring the plight of an enemy tiger. After all... it was a tiger that bittered the name of all big cats on the tongues of humans. Asiatic lions hadn't preyed upon man for generations. But due to the actions of one man-eater whose name was a mystery to the lioness, they had been persecuted as much as tigers themselves. The sight of her shot mother still haunted her to this day..._

_Barely surviving the vessel, she was disgusted by the sight of that same tiger on the beach. She'd considered killing him, but decided not to dirty her own claws. After all, he was as good as dead, and hadn't even woken up when she growled at him._

_The lions of the Desert had welcomed her, and she'd managed to settle down there, and even have a cub. The young male... he was her whole life, after his father, a traveler like Msafiri, had moved on. But she didn't blame him. It was in his nature, almost as it had been hers._

_But when Chukizo killed him... there was no reason for her to stay in the Desert. Wandered, she did, for months, even years. But she finally found solace in the Pride Lands. The Lower Plains pride had been strange, probably due to living so close to the Bloody Shadows. And though Msafiri had gone through the latter unharmed... she felt as if she had been watched the entire time. The home of the assassins was no home for a lioness, not even one as strong as her._

"_My son..."_ she thought, remembering the terrible sight of his ravaged body.

"_If I could avenge you, in any way... I would."_

"_It is lucky that that freak, Chukizo, must have died long ago in the Jungle. She may be part tiger... but she was raised a lion."_

"_It is lucky. If I could... I would avenge your death, and the state that your poor, helpless body was left in."_

"_A thousand times over."_

* * *

(Three reviews gets a new chapter. Freak could not get mad about the trash talk about Taka (no pun intended), as he has yet to understand why family members care for each another. Also, if what Simba said was true, there's nothing he could do to change it, and it would serve no purpose to fight.

But fighting, sadly, looks like it's still in Freak's future. This chapter has added a couple interesting twists, hasn't it? Anyway, tell me what you think, seeing as how this chapter was done in the space of several days instead of one. But that's all I have to say for now. Look forward to chapter six. al-Mujahid out.)


	6. Karma's a Bitch

The Lion King: The Freak  
Chapter 6: Karma's a Bitch

* * *

(tearthgrrl: the relationships shared by the four hyenas are so strong that they nullify the existence of blood bonds down to insignificance. As far as I'm concerned, they love each another like siblings, regardless of whether or not they actually are. Flashback coming soon to a fanfic near you: an example of how much the four care about each another. And T is a very neat character, probably even more so because she's a female. How often do you come across a chick as tough as she is? That's also why I think Shenzi is really cool.

Kovukono: confused about Msafiri? Character development coming up.

MattII: Freak didn't really beat the lions, he just managed to hold his own against them by taking a hostage. If it came to a fight, he'd be able to kill one, maybe two, and injure the rest significantly, but in the end, he'd lose. After all, due to living such a tough life, he is one dangerous sonuvabitch, but he does have his limits, that's why he gets injured a lot. And to placate you, I'll show you how Mufasa changed from being the very arrogant cub that he was into a rather good lion, even, kind of sort of, to his brother.

Inakura: welcome to the fanfic man! Got you four more chapters to read, did you get them all? If you don't review again soon, I'll PM you to ask if you know how to access the other chapters.

Jagabor: I don't know how big of a role the Bloody Shadows are going to play here. I'll probably just have them pop in for Usiku's character development What can I say? I'm a sucker for well-developed characters.

It should be interesting to see how Freak is accepted by the pride, or rather, how much he's not accepted. The hyenas, being new subjects of the Pride Lands will still hate him, of course, but due to their newfound loyalty to Simba, will probably not attack him. Not openly, at least. It is now Saturday, February 23, in the year 2008. Work has commenced on Chapter 6. I'll try to get done at least one section, so to speak, per day, and that should make for a nice long chapter.

Also, if requested, I'll post a general angst formula in my profile. It's pretty good, I've sort of developed it while writing my first fanfic ever and it's working very well in this one at least. It's vague enough to be adapted to any sort of situation, but helpful enough that it gives you a good idea of where to go.

Also... sorry if I go off on too many tangents. I'll write something, then I'll get curious about it, and feel the need to explore all angles of it. I'm just a perfectionist like that. If you get bored, skip it. In general, it's not going to be vital to the story that's going on at 'present day'. It's just to show how we are all connected in the Circle of Life.  
And in case anyone was wondering, there is a method to my naming technique. Msafiri is Swahili for traveler, though I guess it was sort of stupid for me to call her an African name when she is in fact Indian. Sher Kahn was named after a Pashtun prince, Sher Kahn Nasher, hence his brother will be called Nasher. Mganga is Swahili for doctor, Usiku is Swahili for night, Uvuli is Swahili for shade, Kivuli (Jagabor's character) is Swahili for shadow, Simba is Swahili for lion (creative, that one), Kovu is Swahili for Scar, Abhay is Sanskrit for fearless, Amar is Sanskrit for immortal (by the way, Indians are named Sanskrit words) , Ziwi is Swahili for deaf, and Chukizo is of course Swahili for abomination. Singh and Burton are just vaguely generic names that I thought up. What can I say? Humans, in general, don't have kick-ass names.

Five reviews gets you a new chapter, but now, on with the fanfic. Caution: there will be more bad language here, including the f word. I don't overdo it though, because I don't really think cursing is appropriate. But extreme situations call for extreme language, and some of our friends are in extreme emotional duress right now. I don't think it's out of line for me to describe what they'd say word for word.)

* * *

The Shadow Lands were no place for a hyena to live. Not even an incredibly tough one, both mentally and physically. There was just not enough prey to support any kind of population of predators, especially a family as big as T's.

The young female was hiding behind a rocky structure. She could smell, but not see a lone zebra. The problem was, there was an obvious escape route for the animal to take, and if she went at it now, it would certainly run away.

That's why Ed and Banzai were even now circling into position to cut off the exit. After they did so, at Shenzi's signal, T would go for the zebra. It would run, straight towards Ed and Banzai, and freeze. At that, Shenzi would sneak up on it and deliver the fatal blow. It was the the perfect plan.

With the perfect flaw.

Though the zebra appeared to be alone, the rest of its herd was only a few hundred yards away. In their hunger, the four leading hyenas hadn't bothered to scope out the area completely. And since the rest of their family was off elsewhere, there was no hope of back-up coming.

Worse, these zebra were a little smarter than their brethren. Instead of allowing predators to take some of their own, knowing that in general the group would be better, they would attack the predators en masse, resulting in virtually no friendly losses and the elimination of the predators.

The lone zebra was in a sort of crater, with a path leading from it on the far side of the rock that T was hiding behind. Ed and Banzai were circling around the outer ring of the crater, out of view of the prey, and Shenzi was nowhere to be seen. But T knew better than to worry. Shenzi, being the leader of the leaders, the head honcho, had a knack for concealing her presence so completely that not even her friends couldn't detect her at times.

T heard a click. That was the signal. She still had absolutely no idea where Shenzi was, but didn't waste thought on it. The hyena jumped out of cover, racing for the zebra at less than her optimal speed, snarling and barking at it.

Predictably, the animal jumped, and made for the exit. But it stopped in its tracks when Ed and Banzai jumped in its way, the former laughing insanely, the latter laughing more maliciously.

Then, Shenzi came bounding out of nowhere, and jumped on the zebra, digging her teeth into its side, and bringing the animal down. As the three other hyenas closed in, she went for the neck—

The zebra neighed, a loud, screeching sound. Shenzi growled, and severed its jugular with her jaws. The animal's head flopped to the ground; it was dead.

Licking their lips, the hungry hyenas prepared to dive into the animal. Shenzi made a long incision in its belly, exposing the choicest parts, and was about to split them evenly when she stopped, her ears pricked up. Soon afterwards, the rest of the hyenas did the same.

Ed whimpered.

"Yo... do you guys feel da ground shakin'?" asked Banzai, fearfully.

T looked down. Indeed, small pebbles were being jostled around in the rocky crater.

"Oh, no..." she whispered, looking at Shenzi for guidance.

The lead hyena was looking in the distance, keeping track of the rate at which the rumbling was increasing, until it became a roar, and a cloud of dust could be seen... heading right for the hyenas.

"Shit! Leave da zebra, we gotta get outta here!" she screamed, racing along with the other three back behind the rock.

The four hyenas were panting by the time they managed to conceal themselves behind it. Banzai peeked out to see what was going on, and promptly ducked his head back under cover.

"They're lookin' for us," he whispered.

Shenzi nodded, as cool as ever.

"Okay... we gotta be real quiet... sneak outta here. Ed, shut it!" she hissed, seeing that the goofy-looking hyena was whimpering and covering his eyes with his paws.

T gently tapped him on the shoulder, and gave him a smile as he looked at her.

"It'll be okay. We just gotta be quiet," for effect, the young female put a digit to her lips as Ed slowly got to his feet.

"Ed... search for a way to get outta here without them noticin'" said Banzai, while Shenzi kept an eye on the practical zebra army.

Though he didn't look it, the mute hyena had a knack for seeing things that the others didn't. So it wasn't long before he hopped up and down in elation and tapped Banzai on the shoulder, while T continued to keep a watch for any additional threats.

Banzai looked over to where Ed's dark paw indicated. His eyes narrowed. It was a long shot... but if that's the best thing Ed could find, it was the only choice.

He whispered into Shenzi's ear.

"Shenzi... there's a crevice bout 400 yards from here. Takes us across the plain, but I figure we'll be outta view of the zebras unless they look over da crater."

The female nodded, snarling. She knew well that if Ed only saw that escape and Banzai agreed that it was the only way, then it really was the only way. As the leader slowly drew back from the edge of the rock, she heard T swear.

"Damn—there's a bird coming here. If it sees us, it might freak and warn the zebras..."

Indeed, a small, sparrow-looking avian was even then landing on a leafless tree not fifty feet from the four predators. It sat there, apparently unaware of them, and started to preen itself.

Each of the hyenas cursed in their minds, knowing that even the slightest movement might get a reaction out of the small animal. They couldn't breathe without the danger of being noticed...

And meanwhile, the zebras were searching ever closer to the rock. Though Shenzi was no longer looking at them, she could hear the soft taps on their hooves getting closer and closer to their hiding place.

Suddenly, the bird looked up, staring right at the four. The fear was visible in its eyes, and it ruffled its feathers, apparently preparing to fly away. The hyenas didn't dare make any quick movements for fear of startling the animal, but each shook their heads softly, and looked at it with pleading eyes...

The bird didn't shriek, and the four were grateful for that. But the soft flutter of its wings and the sight of its puny form racing into the sky was warning enough for the vengeful zebras.

Shenzi heard the soft clomp, clomp of the hooves abruptly stop, and then start again, as if cautiously approaching their position.

"Shit, go, go!" she whispered to the other three, the fear in her eyes as plain as day.

The hyenas nodded then moved as quickly and quietly as possible away from the rock. Miraculously, all four managed to dive over the edge of the crater just in time, and they stopped their, breathing heavily, not daring to move any more.

"We can get there if we move quick," whispered Banzai.

The rest shook their heads, and he fell silent. After a few tense moments, T spoke up.

"What should we do? They're not leaving," she breathed, and Shenzi knew that the zebras would hang around until they were found.

"Dunno... guess we'll have ta wait till nighttime, then try to get away," Shenzi muttered, seeing that the other three agreed.

Hours passed. Zebras are not highly intelligent animals, and after a while, they were just walking around where they'd already been, and the crater was not small. The hyenas hoped that they'd see the edges as impassible barriers and disregard them as possible escape routes. And it seemed that that's what was happening. But they didn't leave. The continued to search for the hyenas, paying close attention to every sound that occurred in the barren wasteland...

Nightfall.

After a while, the hyenas had fallen into a light doze, though never were they in sleep deep enough that the slightest sign of a threat would go unnoticed. It was terrible—they slept out of boredom and fear, not to rest their bodies and minds. In fact, it could quite easily be argued that sleeping in such a stressful situation did the opposite of relaxing their minds.

But sleep they did, and they all slowly woke up at approximately the same time. Shenzi noticed that the zebras were getting closer and closer to the edges of the crater. Not good. But it was night now, and the hyenas had the advantage of being able to see a little bit better than their 'prey'.

Shenzi made a talking motion with her paw, then a slicing motion, signaling the rest of the hyenas to not speak. They all nodded, and watched as she carefully moved down the side of the crater, heading towards the crevice at a quick, but very quiet pace. Ed moved next, uncharacteristically noiseless, followed by Banzai. The three hyenas went down without a hitch, remaining unnoticed by the zebras.

But unfortunately, T was not so lucky. She traveled down the same path that the others had gone down, but their paws on it had loosened a small pile of rocks. When the young female tread across that same place, she slipped, created a small rockslide as she tumbled down.

Worse, she'd managed to end up pinned under the pile of rocks, and no matter how much she struggled, she couldn't get free. Then, T remembered the zebras.

"_Oh, no..."_ she thought as one, two, three, six, a dozen, then four dozen black and white heads popped up over the edge of the crater.

For a moment, the two sides just stared at each other, as if sizing their opponent up. Then, the zebras all clambered over the side of the crater, and charged right for the hyenas.

T's eyes widened, but she still had enough wits about her to know what to do.

"Get outta here! I'll hold 'em off as long as I can! Go!" she screamed, as the herd neared.

But much to her dismay, the three other hyenas ignored her, digging away at the rocks. Too slow. By the time they got half of her free, they were surrounded on all sides by the whinnying, neighing zebras.

"You two take cara them! I'll keep diggin'!" Shenzi ordered.

Banzai nodded, and said, "On it," as one or two zebras came at them at a time.

T flinched as if her own body was being struck when she saw Ed go flying from a kick to the side. It was little consolation when she watched Banzai rip half the meat off of the attacker's leg, because there were still over forty of the animals left, all with murder in their eyes.

"What the Hell're you doing? Get away!" T cried, knowing that the more her friends tried to help her, the more sealed their own dooms were.

"Not gonna happen," Shenzi said, as she finally uncovered the younger hyena enough that she could shake the rest of the rocks off, and get onto her feet.

T looked up just in time to see Banzai go down, kicked in the face. He hit the dusty, rocky ground, tongue hanging out of his mouth, as if in a gruesome imitation of Ed's signature expression.

The other male howled in agony, but Shenzi and T were too far away to stop him from running towards the same zebra, only to get the same treatment.

"Ed!" shouted Shenzi in terror, when she saw the goofy male's head snap back, and his body slump to the ground, limp.

"Oh, Gods..." T whispered, as her eyes watered up.

But she was a tough girl. And tough girls don't get sad. They get mad.

"Why the Hell did you wait for me? I told you to leave!" she snarled, facing Shenzi.

The older female growled, and T had to back down.

"NObody gets left behind," she said, facing the surrounding zebras again.

The zebras, all forty-something of them, seemed to be laughing at the two remaining hyenas. After all... the odds were astronomically in their favor, and they knew it. There would be no challenge at all to suddenly rush in and stomp the two females to death, which was their intent. It was the perfect plan.

With the perfect flaw.

Heroically, the two females tried their damnedest to fight against the practical wall of hooves that suddenly arc towards their skulls. They incapacitated two zebras, maybe three, before they were knocked to the ground, nearly dead. They saw the striped animals surround them, and knew their fates...

A growl was heard in the distance. Then another. Then another. Soon, it sounded like the whole clan of hyenas was rallying up to save their beloved leaders.

Shenzi managed to raise her head, and gasped and what she saw. After some provocation, T opened an eye as well.

Pouring out of a far-away rock structure, like an ant colony defending its nest, was every hyena in the clan. After little deliberation, the zebras ditched their newfound philosophy of resisting predation, and ran like hares. It didn't even occur to any to finish off the four near-dead hyenas that were helpless on the ground.

Predictably, the four zebras on the plain that T, Shenzi, Banzai and Ed had managed to down were lifted behind, to whinny in pain as their throats were quickly ripped out. T felt a gentled muzzle prod her to her feet, and looked to see that Shenzi was also okay.

"_The guys,"_ she suddenly thought, _"I hope they didn't die for me..."_

"Don't worry," said Banzai, as he coughed, supported by two cubs, "Although prepared for martyrdom, I preferred that it be postponed," he gasped, managing to grin as Ed limped to his side.

"You're worth dyin' for, T," he croaked, as Ed nodded, emitting a rattling sound.

Looking around, the young female could see that the rest of the hyenas were doing the same.

"We haven't got much," said an old male, "but we've got each other. And we're not letting that go without a fight, little lady," he finished, giving Shenzi and T a warm smile.

Shenzi spoke up.

"Yeah... after all," she grinned, looking at the younger female, "we are family, little sister. And family takes care of each other."

Everyone nodded at that, but Shenzi could see that they were eying the fallen zebras hungrily. Now, normally, tradition dictated that the leaders would eat first and most. But to follow tradition against humanity and logic... didn't sit too well with any of the four leaders.

"There's one more in the crater," Shenzi said, smiling at the looks of elation that the rest of the hyenas suddenly wore.

After all, she was their leader, along with the other three. And they didn't give much to their loyal followers... _couldn't_ give much.

"Dig in," she said, and lay down on the ground as her family yelped in joy, all feasting for the first time in far, far too long.

The leaders all shared one thought as they slipped into sleep, this time, a relaxing and spiritual one.

"_Family takes care of each other."_

* * *

Msafiri ran through the jungle as fast as she could away from the approaching hunters, tears in her eyes.

"_Why would they do that? Mom never hurt one of them!"_

The unshaven Indians had led a famous hunter, Jim Corbett, to their home. Apparently, the lion had been suspected of carrying off a child some weeks ago. But the juvenile lioness knew better than that.

"_That was a tiger, no doubt about it."_

She'd been taught by her mother to hate and fear the dangerous big cats, who'd even been known to prey upon their own nearly extinct cousins: the rare Asiatic lion.

"_I can't blame the humans, though,"_ she thought, as she heard the distant crack of a rifle, and saw the bark of a nearby tree chip off, _"they know not of our innocence. Not even Mom knew that there was a tiger around here... because if there was, she'd kill it."_

"_But... I don't have a mom any more. I'm alone,"_ Msafiri thought with a sob.

"_The only thing left for me is to stay alive, living in peace with the humans. Maybe, just maybe, I can show them that I'm not their enemy... and we can work together to kill every tiger on this planet,"_ she thought, feeling hate course through her veins, even as she jumped down the side of a hill.

"_I'll never forget you, Mom."_

"_Or why you died."_

Years passed.

The lioness had never forgotten her hatred of tigers, but she'd never seen one of them in her travels, nor another Asiatic lion. From place to place she wandered, always searching for something nicer, always holding the hope that the next place would have a tiger to kill, or a lion to befriend, or a human to protect.

"_The grass is always greener on the other side."_

She shook her head. She'd met humans, now and again, and allowed herself to be seen by them. But Msafiri had never so much as raised a paw at them, knowing that that could be enough to earn her a bullet to the head.

"_Humans are smart. If I ever seem like a threat to them, they won't take chances."_

"_If I ever meet a tiger, I won't take chances either."_

She was older now, and stronger than her mother had been. As she'd promised herself, she had never gone for a day without forgetting the tough lioness that had taught her all she knew.

"_Mother said that father died in a fight with a tiger,"_ she recalled, bitterly.

"_Just another example of how horrible those animals are."_

She plodded along on the jungle floor, hardly paying attention to where she was going in terms of geography. The lioness had lived through enough to know that whatever physical path she took, in the end, the destination was the same.

"_We're all dead... there are no more Asiatic lionesses around. Anywhere. We've been hunted into extinction... due to the accursed tigers,"_ she spat on the last thought.

"_I might as well die now."_

It was with that thought that her next paw tore through the seemingly solid ground in front of her, ripping right through the leaves, grass, and assorted foliage of the jungle floor. With a roar, she managed to turn herself around in midair, so that she landed on her feet, twenty feet under the ground.

Suddenly, she caught the scent of humans, surrounding her from all sides.

"_So... I will die like my mother. Targeted as a big cat, when the only ones at fault have ever been tigers,"_ she thought, closing her eyes.

A barred door shut above her, and she could see ropes run through them, then tighten as Msafiri felt herself and the camouflaged cage get lifted up onto level ground. Dragging her were two elephants, on top of each a skinny villager. At the side, a young Brit and tough-looking Punjabi shook hands.

"Mr. Singh, you are incredible! I hardly held out the hope that Asiatic lions still existed in this part of India. But you have both found, and captured one! I'm sure the zoo will be very pleased."

"Sahib Burton, your praise flatters me. But I do have your word that she is not to be harmed?"

(Note: Sahib is a now obscure term of respect for a white man. It used to be used in India and other parts of South and Southeast Asia.)

"No, no, of course not, old chap," chuckled the white man, clapping the larger man on the shoulder, "this is supposed to be a secret... but it's for a conservation effort. Rather than merely let her waste away, she'll be introduced to the only other Asiatic lions in captivity in the world—at the London Zoo. We used to not have enough, so few that they'd die off in generations due to a lack of genetic diversity. But with her... there remains an ember of hope for the species."

At that, Msafiri jumped to her feet and pranced around.

"So there are others...? And you're taking me to them? Thank you, thank you, thank you!" she said, almost shedding a tear in her joy

Of course, to the men, it just looked like she was growling and getting excited. The Brit drew away in fear, but Singh stepped forward, so close to the cage that his thick beard poked through the bars.

"Ah, you see, Sahib—even she likes the idea. As do I," he said, turning back to face the astounded white man.

"I've long wanted to visit London. With your permission, and of course a reasonable drop in my fee, I will accompany you on the ship. To take care of our other captives, as well. I do not know if I can entrust their safety to your inexperienced hands," the Punjabi said, chuckling.

Burton nodded.

"Of course. I completely understand. After all... she might get lonely, being the only other Indian on the vessel."

Singh laughed, and his muscled belly jiggled as the outcry of mirth echoed through the forest.

"Yes... traveling to Thailand was quite an experience. But I couldn't leave home for too long. We're near my village," he said, his eyes taking on a distant look as he remembered the place that he grew up in.

"I want to see my brother."

Burton thought of his own older brother, the strong military man that he'd looked up to for his whole life, ever since he'd lost his father.

"Yes. I do, too."

* * *

Sher Kahn stopped, concealing himself among some bushes. The men were still advancing, setting fire to the jungle and every creature in it. Even him, if he let them.

"_Another example of the mindless destruction wrought upon the world by these... abominations."_

The tiger moved again, sprinting too fast for them to see anything but his tail flicker out of sight.

It was morning.

The humans had finally given up pursuit of him, though not after he'd snatched another one of their own right under the noses of the others. The man's scream tore through the night for a minute, serving as nothing more than a warning to the rest.

"_A very tasty warning,"_ grinned Sher Kahn, as he took another bite out of his warm kill.

But there wasn't much meat on the man. Not much at all. The tiger looked at his scrawny, tanned, almost blackened form, and sighed in frustration. It had been some time since he'd had a real kill.

The tiger moved on, leaving the man splayed across a rock. Flies had already started to settle in among the flesh that he hadn't touched, already eating away at his still open eyes.

"_The humans in this area will be on alert for some time. I should get far away from here, at least for the time being."_

"_Perhaps, I'll go to the northwest. I recall tales of other big cats there... and it has been far too long since I've seen another,"_ he thought with a pang, remembering with startling clarity the sights, sounds, smells, and horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach the day his mother and brother were shot...

Sher Kahn shook his head. Now wasn't the time to be thinking of such things. He shoved his thoughts into a dark corner of his mind, knowing that he should only draw strength from his just hatred of men from it If he thought about it too much... he'd go insane.

"_After all... how many beings have to live in such a terrible solitude as I?"_

A week later, the tiger smelled something he'd never smelled before.

"_I can remember what Mother and Nasher smelled like... this is... similar to them... but somehow distinct. Could it be—another big cat?"_ he thought with rising elation.

Sure enough, up and over the next rise, the face, mane, shoulders, torso, then tail of an Asiatic lion came into view. For a being that had lived a life of solitude, always staying just a step ahead of the next hunter's bullet, moving from place to place with little hope of ever finding comfort or peace... it was magical.

The tiger couldn't stop a lone tear from running down his cheek. He didn't even try to stop it.

"_How long... I've waited for this moment. To see a friend. A comrade. A... brother. I... don't have to be alone anymore..."_ he thought, and could no longer hide his elation.

He leaped out of his hiding place, not even paying attention to the fact that the lion dropped into a fighting stance.

"Namaskara, friend!" he said, bowing his head, expressing a very high level of respect.

(Author's Note: namaskara is a formal, respectful greeting used in India, Nepal, and also by followers of Hinduism, Jainism, Sikkhism, and Buddhism. In Sanskrit, which Indian languages are derived from, it's translated to "I bow to you.")

The lion growled, and Sher Kahn was confused. After all, his polite greeting left little to imagination. But maybe he'd been a little forward. So the tiger lay down, submissively, and bowed his large, furry head again.

"Sir... I am Sher Kahn, known to humans as the King of the Jungle. I've... been alone for a long time. I apologize if I startled you. It's just that... I wanted to see another big cat. To not be alone anymore," he ended on a hopeful note.

But the lion only growled more, and this time Sher Kahn felt threatened. He stood, and watched as the other cat spoke.

"Get away! You're not welcome here," the Asiatic male said.

The tiger reeled as if he'd been hit. The lion's words had struck him right in the fragile remnants of his heart.

"But... why? I just want to be a friend. I don't want to be alone. It's been so long... so long, since I saw a being that I could relate to. Too long."

It was true. Sher Kahn was saying what he'd denied himself to think for years. The truth was, that no matter how many men he killed, how strong he became, there was always an emptiness inside him. A void that could only be filled by the knowledge that his life meant something to someone, even in the smallest way.

The lion shook his head.

"I don't care. You're not bringing the violence that follows you like a plague to _my_ family, O King of the Jungle. Leave us... and don't come back."

Time seemed to slow down for the tiger.

"_No... no... it's not supposed to be like this! We're supposed to be friends—brothers on the path of life! Why I am hated?"_ Sher Kahn thought in dismay.

But he hadn't quite given up the hope that the lion could still be convinced. So he strangling out, literally groveling at the Asiatic's feet.

"Please..." he begged.

It was lucky for him that no other being was spying upon the interaction. If that had been the case, Sher Kahn would lose every ounce of reputation that he'd gained over the years. Imagine: a man-eater, the King of the Jungle, prostrating at the feet of a being that he didn't even know.

But the lion merely slapped away the tiger's paws, as if in disgust. Little did he know that, only a few years later, his daughter would do more or less the same thing; albeit aboard a doomed ship instead of in the jungle.

"Get lost..."

As the tiger looked up in dismay, he realized that he could no longer hear. All he could see was the lion, a being that could have brought him back onto the good path of life, but had instead thrown what little benevolence Sher Kahn still had back in his face. He watched the Asiatic male's lips move, and read the terrible message that they spoke.

"... you freak."

Intense, heart-splitting sadness in the tiger turned to rage. After all, he was a being that had lived his whole life fueled only by hate for humans: not the love for his mother and brother, love that he had neither given nor received enough of.

When he was again aware of himself, he realized that the body of the lion had been destroyed so thoroughly that it was unrecognizable. Blood covered every tree for dozens of feet in any direction, and no patch of fur larger than a square inch had escaped Sher Kahn's tirade. Broken, pulverized bits of bone were visible here and there, scattered across the bloody jungle floor. Even the tiger, who had fed his life on death felt nauseous, though it may well have been at what the lion had done to him, rather than what he had done to the lion.

"Why I am hated?" the tiger asked out loud.

"I've only ever done what I've thought to be right. Killing humans... it's necessary. I have to eat to live. And they killed Mother and Nasher without provocation," he said, remembering a long-forgotten memory of himself and his brother tumbling around in the jungle, playing, as his smiling mother looked on.

"Am I... a cursed being? Has something in my past life caught up with me? Am I to never find happiness or peace?" the tiger continued to speak as if in a trance.

(Note: obviously, there is Hindu influence upon Sher Kahn being that he's lived his whole life in India, in which Hinduism is what most people there follow. He apparently believes in karma and reincarnation, which are both beliefs intrinsic to said religion; in fact, the former is the sole creation of Hinduism.)

He paced back and forth, faster and faster, until his aimless strides broke into a fever pitch. With a roar of agony, the tiger ran as fast and far as he could. But he could never outrun his pain. It was always there, waiting for him, no matter how fast he ran.

* * *

The Punjabi entered his family home. It had been too long... the smells of the village, the incense, the freshly cooked food the way only his mother could make it... It had been far too long.

"Son? ...Is it really you?"

Walking into the room, back bent from decades and decades of hard work, was Abhay's old mother. Seeing her after being away for so long brought a tear to the hunter's eye.

"Mama... it's me," he said, leaning down, far, to envelope the old woman in his muscled arms.

"Abhay..." she said, shedding a tear of her own, before she leaned back to look at the man in front of her.

She gave a raspy, dry chuckle, which pained her son to hear.

"You've grown," she said, weakly squeezing her little boy's bicep.

"_You've grown too, Mother. Older."_

"_Dear Gods... how could I have forgotten her?"_ the man thought back to the night, almost ten years ago when he'd left his homeland.

He'd lived in other parts of India, learning, working hard, earning money, always sending some home to his family, knowing that as the eldest son of the family, it was his responsibility to care for them now that his father was gone. He'd learned how to hunt, and well, and over the course of years, he'd gotten very good at it. So good that it hadn't been long at all before his talents were discovered by the white man. He'd been sucked into assignment after assignment with the promise of wealth and glory. And though at the end of each month he'd always written a check addressed to his village... he'd long since forgotten what, and more importantly, who he was working for.

"Where is... where is Amar... where is bhai?" he managed to ask, forcing himself to back out of the embrace.

(Note: bhai is brother in many North Indian languages.)

The old woman looked to the ground. Even from his vantage point over her, Abhay could see her tears hit the floor.

"Son... I've failed him. I couldn't protect him..." she managed to sob.

"_What?"_thought the man with a gasp, fearing the worst as he opened the door to the room he and his brother had once shared...

And there, lying on the same dingy, lumpy bed, moaning in pain, was Amar Singh.

"_No..."_

Abhay dropped to his brother's side, and managed to prevent himself from placing a hand on Amar's too-thin chest.

"_I really have forgotten them,"_ some part of the hunter's mind told him.

But closer to the surface of his terror was the recognition of injuries that could only be described as hateful. There were plainly not intended to be lethal, as they were etched in, almost artistically, on parts of the man's body that while painful, would leave him alive.

Probably.

Crisscrossing the Amar's scrawny chest were deep, vicious scratches.

"_Brother... I became a hunter... for you. You and mother. But somehow, I've forgotten all about you."_

"_That ends now."_

Abhay clasped one of his brother's hands in both of his own, noticing how baggy and malnourished his skin was, before standing up, looking in pain down at Amar's limp, unresponsive form, then walking out back to his mother. He was already almost certain of the attack... but he needed to be sure.

"Mother," he said in a rather gruff voice, trying to attract the crying woman's attention.

It didn't work, so Abhay spoke in a softer, gentler tone.

"Mom... I need you to be strong. For Amar."

At that, the old one looked up into her son's determined face.

"How did he get his..." injuries just wasn't the right word.

"There was an attack. A woman was taken. His promised one," she started to cry, remembering how deeply her little boy had cared for the girl, ever since childhood.

"He tried to fight... but there was nothing any of us could do. She was dead. But yet, he went on. The rest of us didn't dare follow, not into the jungle, not at that time of night. An hour passed... and we saw his poor silhouette break free from the treeline. And then... he fell."

"We managed to get him home before he bled to death. And with God's blessing, the shaman managed to save him. But son... he'll be scarred for life."

The man suddenly swore, and hit the nearest wall with his rough fist. Though the cement didn't break, the entire house shook, and he felt no pain from his hand.

"What was it?" he asked.

"A tiger," his mother said, starting to cry again, terrified of the terrible rage that twisted across her conscious son's face.

After a moment, Abhay started to leave the room. But he felt his arm catch fast in his mother's bony grip, and turned to look at her.

"Son... the tiger was only doing what was natural for him. What he had to do. Please... don't put even more pain and suffering into this world than there already is. It's not God's will," she said, pleading.

Abhay looked forward, and gently, but purposefully plucked his mother's gaunt fingers from his thick arm, as he left the house.

"God's gonna sit this one out," he growled, planning his next hunt, even as the dry sobs of his mother followed him into the night.

* * *

Sher Kahn licked his paws clean of the woman's blood. To all external appearances, he looked serene, but he was struggling with himself internally.

"_Were my actions just? I had to escape, of course. But did I really need to strike him so much?"_

"_...It is of little concern. He attacked me... like so many others have. I needed to leave a very clear message that such actions will not be tolerated."_

"_But that's not what I thought when I tore into him. He was only trying to protect his loved one."_

The tiger felt a stab of pain at that.

"_It matters not I, too, was protecting a loved one... myself. It is... understandable... that I got carried away a little."_

The tiger nodded. Now things made sense again.

"_Yes. I love myself... because there is no one else for me to love. No one,"_ he thought, and in an act of spite, batted his kill's body so that it tumbled around on the ground before coming to rest, face down, into a ditch in which Sher Kahn had just urinated.

He sighed, and stood up, walking onwards, as he'd always done. The only thing that was sure in the tiger's life was that there would always be prey. After all... the terrible disease on the world that was mankind spread quickly.

* * *

Abhay grinned terribly at the struggling tiger. It had taken weeks of diligent tracking, then the careful, almost spiritual placement of the trap... but in the end, he'd managed to do it.

"Mr. Singh, I do appreciate your spirit, but it's only fair for me to remind you, again, that the London Zoo has no need for another tiger at this time. And certainly not a one such as this; a beast that's sure to kill any animal it's kept with," said Burton, with a bit of an edge in his voice.

The Punjabi turned on him, glaring.

"Be silent, Burton. My brother was hurt. You will not keep me from avenging him," he said, turning back to the tiger with malice in his eyes.

Sher Kahn was tied up, hanging upside-down from a long, slender tree trunk that had been cut down specifically to hold him. The tiger was unconscious, for the moment, but felt himself return to the realm of the living as Abhay coldly slapped him across the face.

He managed to open his eyes, and growl, furious that he'd allowed himself to be captured by man. But then, his eyes widened in dawning horror.

"_That scent... he is that man's brother?"_

"_My Gods... I hope that he doesn't get carried away as well."_

Unfortunately, getting carried away was exactly what the Punjabi planned to do. He looked around for a moment, then broke a long branch free from a nearby tree. He approached the incapacitated tiger, and almost lovingly drew his knife, flashing it before the feline's eyes.

"Sher Kahn... I do not plan to kill or permanently injure you. That might cause others, eventually, to feel pity for you... which is something you do _not_ deserve."

He slid his knife away, and the tiger breathed easier for a moment. That is, until Abhay reached for a nearby torch, holding it only inches from the terrified cat's eyes. Sher Kahn struggled to move away, even as he smelled the terrible, acrid odor of his own whiskers burning off.

Abhay laughed at that.

"You're not going anywhere, O King of the Jungle. Not until you suffer as much as my poor little brother must have."

A loud crack was heard, followed by an animalistic grunt of pain. Even Burton, who had seen more than one disturbing sight in his life, due to growing up on the backstreets of London, had to turn away. But nothing he did could prevent him from sensing, in some way, the terrible pain that the tiger was going though.

When he looked next, Singh was leaking more perspiration than water flowed through the Nile. But Sher Kahn was as dark with bruises as the one who had beaten him was shiny with sweat By this time, the tiger had been unconscious for nearly an hour, but that earned him no respite. Blow after blow had fallen on his limp form, until Abhay was physically too exhausted to continue. But now, the chore was done... and he could go home...

"Mom, I'm home," he said, walking into the one-story hut, not caring what time of night it was.

But nothing but the soft breathing of his brother in the far room reached his ears. Concerned, the man walked into his mother's room.

And there she was, sprawled out on the bed, almost peacefully. But the man had seen enough death in his life to recognize it at a glance. Her chest wasn't rising and falling, and when he bent down to check her pulse with a heavy heart, it too came up negative.

Abhay Singh sat there till dawn, cradling his mother's body until the villagers had found him, and taken her to perform the funeral, even as Abhay still sat there.

"_Is this God's way of telling me... I was supposed to forget them? That I am destined to leave their lives and never return? I've been gone for ten years... and around when I return, my brother is attacked, ad my mother dies..."_

"_I am... an abomination. A bad omen. For his own good... I must leave my brother."_

With that thought, Abhay walked out of his house, not even looking back when he heard his name being called by the weak, sickly voice of his younger brother.

* * *

(Monday, February 25, 2008)

Chukizo was a few months old at the time.

She was lounging around in the den, surrounded by two of her brothers; the third one had gone to get a drink of water. The only female of the litter had shrugged at that. He'd be lucky to find a drop of drinkable liquid in the desert, unless he dared to go as far as the western oasis.

She sat bolt upright.

"_No way... he's not stupid enough to do that, is he?"_ she thought.

For the past few weeks, animals had been... vanishing at the oasis. No one knew why. Some said that it was the water itself, some said it was a water demon striking back at the pride for allowing the abomination and her brothers to live... but no one could offer an actual explanation as to what was going on.

"_But he'd see it as the quickest, surest way to get water... I'd better not wake anyone else up, in case I'm wrong. Besides... they wouldn't care anyway."_

As quietly as she could, Chukizo left the den, and sure enough, in the far distance, she could see the diminutive figure of her brother plodding along towards the oasis.

"Oh no," she said out loud, but even if she shouted at the top of her lungs, her brother wouldn't hear him.

After all, he was deaf.

Chukizo was actually the only one in the litter that didn't have some sort of disability; though of course, the rest of the pride treated them all like there was something irreversibly wrong with them. Besides her one brother who was deaf, another was severely mentally handicapped, and the last one had weakened jaw muscles.

Even at her age, the tigon understood that it probably had something to do with their mixed parentage. But that didn't help her brother who could hardly move his jaw at all. As soon as he was too old to drink milk... he'd starve... because he wouldn't be able to eat meat. Not in his state.

She'd managed to explain it to both of her other brothers with difficulty. The deaf one had just looked terribly sad, but the other one... he'd cried for hours, and the worst thing was, there was no one to comfort him but two other freaks.

The female tigon ran as fast as she could after her deaf brother. But he was already over a mile away; and for a big cat cub, that was quite a distance. By the time the panting, gasping Chukizo came within view of her brother again, he was already starting to lap up water with his scratchy pink tongue.

She was only twenty yards away, by now, but even shouting for him at this distance would do no good.

Suddenly, the tigon saw something that she'd never seen before. But, somehow, she knew what it was... and what it was doing.

Two large, slimy, green eyes had popped out of the water not two feet from her brother, and the look that they contained could only be described as... hungry.

"Ziwi, look out!" Chukizo screamed, and incredibly, her brother looked up, giving his sister a surprised grin.

A pair of gigantic, scaled jaws with a seemingly ubiquitous amount of yellowed, sharp, dagger-like teeth seemed to fly out of the water, opening so wide that it looked to Chukizo as if they could crush the entire world in their cruel embrace.

Ziwi was thrust up into the air by the sheer force of the attack, and it was with a squeal that he managed to look at his sister, as if trying to tell her, "Save me."

But there was nothing Chukizo could do.

The huge jaws clamped down together. A gruesome _crack_ was heard, and the female watched as her brother's life ended, just like that; snuffed out in with one terrible move. Even as blood splattered on Chukizo's shocked face, she couldn't do anything but stare.

It was only after the twenty-something foot long crocodile had slithered back into the water that she managed a strangled yell. Chukizo made to jump into the water, but stopped herself. Ziwi... was gone. And nothing she could do would ever bring him back.

The female li-tigon heard a malicious grin from behind her, and turned around. There, laying down across the sand, was her and Ziwi's mother.

"Ah... that was funny, wasn't it, little one?" she said, smirking at Chukizo.

Tears ran down the cub's cheeks.

"Mom... how can you say that? He was your _son_," Chukizo managed to gasp as she cried.

"So what?" the lioness said, shrugging.

"It's not like I loved him. And the same goes for you, you little freak," she said, baring her teeth at her daughter.

But Chukizo could only cry harder. Her heart was weary from watching her brother get eaten in front of her, and even more from having impressed upon her once again just how hated they both were.

Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, the li-tigon saw movement, and jumped as far away from the water as she could. She felt sharp, bloody teeth just kiss the side of her torso as she tumbled across the sand, and saw that the same crocodile glared at her, as if to say, "Next time."

The cub heard her mother seethe, and watched as she walked away, tail flittering over the dune.

"Rats."

* * *

It was Mufasa's first day as King.

His father, Ahadi, had passed away, quietly, the day before. And though the tan lion shed many a tear, he couldn't help but notice that Scar's pained expression seemed rather, well... exaggerated.

His mind racing both with the death of his father and the seeming lack of care that his brother had shown about it, he'd barely paid attention to his crowning, at which Sarabi stood faithfully by his side, while Scar was off to the back; close to the greatness of his brother, but never too close.

Nightfall.

The entire Pride Lands seemed to be sleeping. And the King couldn't blame them. The ceremony was very tiring, and there was a truce... no animal was to predate any other until dawn of the next day. In fact, many animals that would normally be considered prey to the lions had elected to sleep not fifty yards from Pride Rock, showing their loyalty and trust to their new King.

It would be hard to sneak past them all.

"Scar... wake up," Mufasa whispered, tapping Scar on the shoulder.

The dark lion instantly got to his feet, not even rubbing his eyes to wake himself up.

"What is it, brother?" he asked, looking around for a way to serve Mufasa, his King.

"I'd like to talk to you."

Though confused, and a little bit nervous, Scar knew better than to refuse. So he merely nodded, and waited for Mufasa to move first before following him out and away from Pride Rock.

They walked together for a full two miles in silence before Mufasa spoke. Scar was next to him, kind of, never quite neck and neck with his brother, always a step or so behind.

"How do you think, brother, that I will be as a King? Will I live up to Father?" Mufasa asked.

It was partially a genuine question, as he really was interested in how his brother viewed him. But the tan lion also meant to find out exactly what Taka thought about the late Ahadi.

"You will be a thousand times as great as our father, Mufasa. After all... I cannot imagine you practically abandoning your second-born."

Mufasa stopped in his tracks, and turned to Scar. Never had he really thought on his father's treatment, or lack thereof, to his brother.

Taka took the motion the wrong way, and suddenly bowed down.

"I'm sorry, brother. It's not my place to criticize Father. Especially, now that he's gone."

The King didn't know what to say.

"Scar... did he really treat you like that?"

But Mufasa already knew the answer. He thought back to how, over the years, he'd never seen Ahadi give even a single kind word or pat on the back, metaphorical or physical, to his brother.

But the sad nod that his brother gave him reemphasized his fears.

"Brother... I don't know what to say."

Taka looked off into the distance.

"Mufasa, there is nothing to say. I have lived life without a father, so his death yesterday meant little to me. Except, of course, that with my great brother as King... perhaps, for just a few months... I could take the throne, as well?"

The King closed his eyes, and in the darkness of the night, no one could see the lone tear that leaked from his eye to softly hit the ground. So... the whole thing was a set up. Scar's ploy to take the throne for himself.

"Brother... are you—"

Scar was cut off when he suddenly found himself pinned to the ground, at the mercy of Mufasa's heavy paws.

"Why, Taka... why would you try to take advantage of our brotherhood like this? You ask the impossible!" the King whispered.

After a long while, the dark lion felt the great weight on him ease up, and looked to see his brother walking away.

"_He's upset by the death of Father, and overwhelmed by his sudden rise to the throne. I have faith in him,"_ he thought.

"_I must."_

* * *

(

Freak was confused. He didn't know what to do.

The four lions were drinking at one side of the water hole, the four Outland hyenas at their side. Usiku and his daughter were a little farther off to the side as well, but the li-tigon knew that if he stayed too close, the Pride Landers might forget their promise.

So he walked around to the far side of the lake, and started to carefully sip at some water. Every now and then, he'd look up to make sure that the others were keeping their distance. But after a while, he relaxed, and drank his fill. He looked up, seeing that the others were preparing to leave.

So the li-tigon cautiously approached the lions, making sure that he always kept them in between him and the hyenas.

"What am I supposed to do now?" he bluntly inquired, unsure of what else to say.

Though everybody glared at him, Freak held, waiting for Simba to answer.

"Well... I guess we have to introduce you to the rest of the Pride. You four," he said, looking at the hyenas, "are welcome to stay in our spare den, as are you, Usiku of the Bloody Shadows, along with your daughter."

The black hyena curtly nodded. Now that his assignment had been aborted, he had no desire to start the long journey back to the Bloody Shadows. Perhaps not ever. After all, that's rather why he'd come to the Pride Lands...

Freak nodded as well, and walked alongside the group back to Pride Rock. Sort of. He never went closer than twenty feet from the lions, especially since Kovu had tactfully placed himself between the li-tigon and Kiara.

The group marched to the huge, earthy structure in silence. Kovu was torn between his desire to attack Freak, the knowledge that he'd certainly lose, and the fact that Simba had guaranteed the li-tigon's safety. Kiara was greatful that her mate was okay, but more than a little wary of Freak. Nala didn't like the arrangements, but trusted Simba's judgment. Barely. The four hyenas formerly of the Outlands knew that now, as loyal subjects of their King, they would never harm a hair of the li-tigon's body. But that didn't mean that they'd forgive him. Usiku was of course bound by his code of honor, and like the other hyenas, wouldn't directly, physically harm Freak, but would not hesitate to take other actions that would lead to his death. Uvuli was scared of the li-tigon, plain and simple.

And Simba... he was starting to second-guess himself.

"_It's dangerous to keep him here. He could kill us in our sleep... no, I don't think he would. He seems like a pragmatist. He has no reason to kill us, so he wouldn't. But still... we don't know enough about him to make a good enough judgment."_

"So, cousin," Freak looked up, realizing that Simba was referring to him, "how was life in the Jungle?"

The li-tigon thought, for a moment, while the other beings perked up their ears, waiting for the answer.

"Hard. Hard, and painful."

"Lonely," he added, almost as an afterthought.

It was true. Every now and again, the li-tigon had felt the need for company, though those desires had slowly subsided with the passage of years. But even so, and even despite living a life in practical solitude, Freak knew that something was missing; even if he didn't know what it was.

The Lion King flinched at the abrupt, brutal answer.

"Um... what sort of prey did you hunt here?" he asked, curious.

Simba figured that since the lionesses of his pride always worked with each another to take down larger animals, such as zebra, Freak would be restricted to preying upon smaller animals.

"Anything that I find. Zebras, antelope, an occasional hippo, lemurs, monkeys, birds, lizards... too many to mention. If it moves, I've probably eaten it or something like it."

This time, Kiara spoke up. Her voice was one of wonderment and confusion, much to the disapproval of her mother and her mate.

"How on Earth did you kill zebras, antelopes, and _hippos_ on your own?"

Freak blinked.

"I don't understand your question," he said, glancing halfway to look at the young, tan lioness.

"Well, you see," said Nala this time, "we hunt in groups. That's the only way we can take down big prey like that. A gazelle is pretty much the limit of a lone lion. Anything beyond that... is either risky or suicidal," she ended flatly.

"In that case... necessity has forced me to do those things. There was never anyone else to help me hunt. So I had to do it myself. It was the only way for me to live."

Nala and Kiara seemed to understand that. Both nodded, then continued walking towards Pride Rock. He'd answered the question, just... without any personality. It seemed like he was merely narrating the events of his life from a third-person perspective.

Kovu spoke now, his anger at Freak seemingly forgotten. At least for the moment.

"How did you live like that? I mean... you must have gotten injured at least a few times."

But it was Usiku who answered, albeit with another question.

"As lions of the Pride Land, I am sure you are aware of pythons and cobras, as well as the distinct methods in which they hunt?" the black hyena interjected, gaining confused stares, then nods from the lions.

"Well... in the Jungle, there is, or was, a terrible beast. Longer than the longest python I have ever seen, but worse, it was venomous, and deadly fast. Would you believe that this freak managed to kill it when he was still only a cub? True, he probably would have died if Mganga hadn't stepped in. But the fact remains... he managed to kill that horrible serpent, alone, before his first year passed."

Even the assassin's voice had taken on a rather impressed tone when he said this. He quickly noticed this, and prodded his daughter so that she'd walk faster. The baby giggled, stuck out her tongue at her father, and ran ahead a little bit.

"Wow..." said all other beings, excluding, of course, Ed, who maintained his goofy expression.

Freak shrugged.

"I had to. It was cutting me off from the rest of the Jungle, and killing my prey. Also... I had to know that I was strong."

Simba chuckled.

"Well, there's no doubt about that now," he said, grinning, despite the li-tigon's expressionless muzzle.

"You said that your mother was... Chukizo?" he shuddered at that; hardly capable of imagining why any mother or father would name their daughter such a horrible word.

"Yes."

"...How do you know? You said you only spent a few minutes with her. Come to that, if that's true, then how did you survive until you were able to eat meat? How did you get milk?"

"I remember," Freak said simply.

"I killed mothers and took milk from their bodies. Once, I tried asking. It didn't go well..." he thought back to the terrible experience with the lemur.

T gasped.

"That's terrible!" she said, and her fellow hyenas seemed to agree.

But the li-tigon shrugged again.

"I didn't enjoy it. But I had to live. There was no other way," he struggled to explain; for some reason, he didn't want them to hate him more than they already did.

Shenzi seemed to nod, before she growled suddenly.

"And lemme guess... you din't enjoy killin' off our family, too?" she said, accusingly.

Freak slowly, almost sadly shook his head.

"No... I didn't. They struck first. I... did what I had to. I had to live," he halting spoke.

"Don't gimme that bullshit," sneered Banzai, and for a moment, Usiku covered his daughter's ears with his paws at the use of such obscene language.

"They wouldn'ta done anything like that, not unless you did somethin' first, ya punk motherfucker!"

Though Shenzi agreed with the sentiment, she and Usiku growled at the male's harsh language. Banzai glared back for a moment, then looked down, muttering an apology. Then, the female spoke up.

"He's right. What did you do to them?" she demanded.

"Nothing but what I had to. I ate, and they starved. They found me, and attacked. That's all there is. I didn't provoke them. In fact, I even tried to talk them out of it. But they attacked me regardless..." Freak finished, not willing to say exactly what he'd done to try to talk the other hyenas into leaving him alone.

"_Though... this could work to my advantage. Simba seems not to know what the hyenas were planning. Which means that I could use it against these four..."_

The li-tigon's face was as expressionless as ever.

The hyenas, minus Usiku and Uvuli, growled in unison, but said no more. They were being emotional, and they knew it. They'd leave Freak alone... but they never intended to forgive him.

But T, being younger and less cynical than the other hyenas, continued to ask questions.

"What, exactly, are you?" she asked, bluntly saying what everyone was thinking.

"A freak," the li-tigon simply answered.

"...Do you really believe that?"

"Every being that I've met has told me so."

The young female struggled to wrap her mind around the concept of being so looked down upon. It was one thing to be feared as a threat, or even hated as a predator... but something else entirely to be truly detested as a freak.

"...But do you believe it?"

"I don't understand your question."

T looked at Shenzi for help articulating what she knew that the older female was wondering as well. After all... they'd been through so much together that they could practically read each another's minds. The same went for Banzai and Ed, too.

Though Shenzi pointedly refused to look at Freak, she spoke up.

"She means... do ya really think that yer a freak, regardless o' what others say?"

The li-tigon paused, thinking.

"Yes."

Banzai was confused by the answer. Throughout the conversation, he, like the lions, had been trying to figure out Freak, trying to spot an Achilles Heel, of sorts. But the curt answer made him look over at the li-tigon.

"Wait, what? How da Hell could ya go through life like dat?"

Freak shrugged.

"I came to accept it. It... caused me pain... sometimes, when they called me Freak. But it's not the kind of pain that any other injury I've had causes. I don't know how to explain it."

Though the li-tigon had never felt sadness, or any real emotion, he did, from time to time, go through a physical reaction that substituted the emotions that he'd never known. It was beyond his explanation. He wouldn't feel threatened or hurt, not physiologically, but he'd feel actual pain in his gut, in some extreme situations.

For the first time, he spoke without being prompted.

"It was shortly after I killed the snake... I thought, that since I destroyed him and the fear that was associated with the Dark Zone, where he lived, that the other animals might come to accept me. To see me as..."

He shook his head. He didn't know the word to express his mistaken hopes.

"Until then, I'd lived in the shadows. I didn't allow anyone to see me and live. But it was hard, like that, and I wanted to be able to walk through my home without having to look to see if someone else was there."

"I called for all of the animals in the area, knowing that word of my existence would spread fast. They gathered around me... I should have known then, from the way they stared at me, that they'd never accept me. But I told them what I'd done, that the Dark Zone was now no more dangerous than any other part of the Jungle."

"I thought that that they would thank me..."

"But they only glared at me more. One monkey told me that I was a thousand times worse than the snake, because I was not a son of the Circle of Life. He told me... I was a freak. That nature didn't want for me to exist. Others joined in. Very soon, every animal was cursing me, calling me an abomination, telling me to die. I don't know why... but I wanted to kill them... but I had the snake for food. To strike at them would be... illogical. Wrong."

"That event reinforced what I've known since birth... everyone is a threat."

Freak abruptly shut up. A strange, raw ache was forming in the back of his throat. It was because due to a lifetime of virtually no use, his vocal chords weren't strong enough for the demands suddenly placed on them.

Kiara spoke after a moment of absolute silence. The more the group spoke to Freak, the more twisted and disturbing his life seemed.

"You said you've been alone since your mother died. Were you born alone? Don't you have any brothers or sisters?"

Litters of one were not rare, but more common were litters of at least two or three. After all... life was hard, and in general, only 50 of lion cubs grow to adulthood.

(Note: that probably isn't true in real life, but this is a fan _fiction_.)

Freak nodded.

"I had a sister. But my mother killed her when she had just been born."

Nala, shocked, spoke up. Being a mother herself, she couldn't possibly understand why any animal would want to kill their own child.

"Why would she do that?" the lioness gasped, walking a little closer to Simba.

"Because... she didn't want her to live a life of hardship. She tried to kill me, too, but I didn't understand her at the time. So I dodged it She tried to kill me again, and I dodged that to. Her final strike... gave me this scar," the li-tigon said, gesturing at the horrific wound that streaked across his eye.

"If I'd known that she was doing it out of love..."

Freak trailed off. He'd never really thought about what might have happened if he'd understood his mother's intentions. Would he still have let her mercy-kill him? Or would he have resisted anyway?

After a while, Simba stammered a question that he'd been wondering since the li-tigon took Kovu hostage.

"You said you don't care about anyone... did you love her back?"

"I don't understand your—"

"It's very simple, son of Scar," said Kovu, getting a little impatient with the li-tigon's naivety, "what feelings do you have for your mother?" he ended, thinking of his own mother.

"_She... I don't know what to think of her. She cared for me. But that was only because she saw me as a weapon against Simba. Her tool to use to avenge Scar. I was no son to her."_

"_But I don't know how I feel about her, now that she's gone..."_

"I don't know. She loved me, and after trying to kill me, let me drink her milk. She's the only female that's ever let me do that... and if she hadn't right then and there, I would have died. But she still tried to kill me. I don't know how to answer."

The lions seemed satisfied with that. And they were closing in on Pride Rock. The other lionesses woke up, and came growling towards the group, seeing as how they were flanked by a strange-looking big cat with injuries all over him, an assassin of the Bloody Shadows with his daughter, and four of the hyenas that they'd long forgotten about.

Though the five adult hyenas and Uvuli had the sense to stand down and appear as non-threatening as possible, Freak knew only how to meet force with force. After all, earlier that day when he'd _tried_ talking his way out of a conflict, it had failed. So the li-tigon growled back, almost roaring, and prepared to fight for his life.

Unfortunately, this took the attention off of the hyenas and made the other lionesses concentrate solely on Freak. They started to close in, some surrounding him, others moving in head on. A battle seemed inevitable...

Suddenly, the Lion King roared, making the li-tigon jump, a little, but instantly defusing the situation. The lionesses stopped advancing, and they waited for Simba to explain.

"He's a friend. My cousin. Our brother. He is not to be harmed," the tan lion said, looking each lioness in the eye, and seeing no dissent.

They slowly looked from Freak to the hyenas, wondering why on Earth they were accompanying their King, and an obvious assassin, back to Pride Rock.

"These hyenas... are now welcome in the Pride Lands. As is Usiku of the Bloody Shadows, and his daughter Uvuli."

The lionesses relaxed when they realized that Usiku was a son of the Bloody Shadows. After all, Simba had a favor owed to him by the leader of that land, and though they didn't know why; they did know that no assassin of the Bloody Shadows would ever harm him nor one of his Pride.

Usiku, however, had to stifle a grin when he saw them calm down.

"_If only they knew... I no longer consider myself Usiku of the Bloody Shadows. I am now only Usiku... that accursed, backwards land, built on the back of my so-called father deserves neither my allegiance or my trust."_

"Your cousin?" asked one perceptive lioness.

Simba nodded.

"He's my father's brother's son. Scar's son."

There was an audible gasp, followed by an inaudible wave of hatred that Freak felt wash over him. But he didn't care. He was used to it.

"He looks... just like Scar," said Vitani, and Kovu nodded, agreeing with his sister.

"Be that as it may," said the Lion King, with an edge in his voice, "he's family. _Not to be harmed._ He is welcome here."

Vitani nodded at that, as did the other lionesses. But the ex-Outlanders hated Scar more thoroughly than anyone else. And if this being was his son... they didn't know if they could ever truly accept him. Alongside Freak's unwanted presence, the hyenas's sudden reintroduction to the Pride Lands hardly even registered with them. All of their attention... was on hating the li-tigon.

One old lioness caught a glimpse of him as a cloud covered part of the sun, changing the lighting of the Pride Lands. For a brief second, his charcoal black stripes were visible, but it was so quick that it was almost like it never happened. But when Freak turned, locking eyes with her, she knew.

Msafiri suddenly stepped forward, growling, even as the other lionesses quirked their heads at this sudden turn of events. The li-tigon, however, merely sat down and looked at her, curious as to why she was disobeying Simba's orders when no one else was.

"You, stranger... who, or what, are you? Who was your mother?" she demanded, even as Simba glared at her for speaking out of turn.

"My name is Freak, and that is what I am. My mother was Chukizo, though I am not sure of her—"

The li-tigon suddenly ducked low, extending his claws, as the ancient, foreigner-looking lioness suddenly lunged at him and took a swipe at his face. Before she hit the ground, Freak had jumped on her back, pinning her down, but not delivering a fatal bite or claw.

The Asiatic lioness coughed as she felt the li-tigon's heavy form crush her to the ground. She struggled to get free, but could hardly flail her paws about in front of her, much less escape or attack the li-tigon.

"What is the meaning of this? I said that he's not to be harmed!" Simba roared, walking towards Msafiri.

Still, she struggled, and managed to scrape Freak's forearm. At that, he growled, batting her heavily on the back of the head, hard enough to smash her muzzle into the ground and make her see stars. The Lion King roared again at that.

"That's enough!"

After a moment, Msafiri finally stopped struggling, though in her eyes was enough hatred to make the other lionesses flinch when they looked at their old sister.

"Now... Msafiri... why would you attack Freak like that?"

The lioness growled, struggling for a moment again, until a louder growl from Simba and more pressure on the back of her neck from the li-tigon calmed her down.

"His mother... the accursed abomination, Chukizo... killed my _son_, Simba. He was only a cub... but the suffering that she wrought upon him must have put him through enough pain to make an assassin of the Bloody Shadows beg for mercy."

Usiku blinked in surprise at that. That colloquialism... was only used in the Bloody Shadows themselves. This strange lioness must have been there for quite some time to pick it up, around some very unsavory characters...

Simba didn't know what to say. Long had Msafiri held that an abomination had taken all she cared for from her. But never had he suspected that she was talking about her cub's death, at the paw of another big cat...

Suddenly, the Asiatic lioness struggled harder than ever, and Freak opened his jaws, intending to end her then and there...

"No... don't do it," said the King, and the li-tigon held back, barely.

"She's lived a hard life as well. Killing her, it would serve no purpose. But Msafiri... he's not his mother. So he'd not responsible for what she did. No matter how," he shuddered, "terrible it was."

She growled, but managed to restrain herself, and even assume a humble air.

"Yes... yes... you're right, Simba," she said with a sob, "he is not his mother. And if you can forgive him for being the son of Scar... then I can forgive him for being the son of Chukizo."

Despite her words... the lioness's thoughts were rather different.

"_I _shall_ avenge you, son. And if Simba stands in my way... then he'll have to fall, too."_

"Yes..." said Simba with a pang.

The pain of losing his father to his uncle had never truly left him. Even these days, he'd sometimes wake up to a nightmare of his father falling down into the stampede while in this distance, Scar laughed.

"Freak... let her go. It's time for us all to forgive and forget," he said meaningfully.

The li-tigon considered for a moment, but slowly, cautiously got up, allowing the Asiatic to get to her feet. She glared at him for a moment, then looked to the ground, remembering that she had to play her part... at least for a while.

But she couldn't possibly expect what the Lion King said next.

"Now... nuzzle each other."

Msafiri growled, but backed down at the glares she got from the rest of the Pride. Meanwhile, Freak just looked confused. He spoke, but didn't turn his vision from the Asiatic for a second.

"What does it mean to nuzzle?" he asked, his hateful eyes burning holes into the lioness's skull.

Simba sighed.

"Show him, Msafiri."

Slowly, grudgingly, the old, wrinkled lioness came forward to within inches of Freak. He growled as their whiskers flickered past one another, and extended his claws. Resisting the temptation to bite hi neck right there, knowing that he might well be able to fight her off even then; even without the aid of the Pride, Msafiri forced herself to rub up against him. As her point of view changed, she realized that his stripes were in the exact same pattern of a being that she'd long forgotten...

"_It can't be... that tiger..."_

Karma's a bitch.

* * *

(Note to self: backstory on Simba's encounter with the leader of the Bloody Shadows next chapter. Msafiri also seems to have Bloody Shadow connections. Also, an explanation for Usiku's hatred towards his former home. Perhaps they could tie in to each another. Perhaps Usiku could be a renegade assassin, the equivalent of Scar in the Bloody Shadows.) We are, after all, all connected in the Circle of Life.

There are many levels of right and wrong, good and evil, mercy and revenge here. It makes you wonder if the terms good and bad even apply any more in such a complex situation, doesn't it?

Interesting that I could write it so fast. Sorry for the bad language, but it serves only to emphasize the extremity of what's going on here. I tried not to go overboard as I don't really find foul language appropriate, but it does happen in real life.

I'm going to try to draw a picture of Freak so that you can see him as I do. But keep in mind: I am neither an artist nor writer. I'm a bloody right-brained highschool student It's probably going to suck, so yeah... don't flame me too much.

I do not know if I'll be able to start the next chapter for a couple days as I have SATs on Saturday March 1st. There's still a requirement of five reviews before I write it, but I'm hardly worried about it any more. It's nice to see new faces reading my work, so if you know anyone else that's into fanfics, send them a link to this story.

This is al-Mujahid, as angry, hated, vengeful, murderous, back-stabbing and traitorous as ever... see you next chapter.)


	7. Betrayals and Betrayals

The Lion King: The Freak  
Chapter 7: Betrayals and Betrayals

* * *

(I've just realized that Simba and Chukizo would be in the Jungle at roughly the same time. But Simba is in the northwest, whereas Chukizo is in the far east, just above the Dark Zone. It would make sense for them to not come into contact, especially since there are no sentient animals in Simba's area but Timon and Pumba.

Kovukono: Well, I had to think of some way for a tiger to get to Africa, if barely. Also, they do serve well to emotionally attach the reader into the story. If it helps, you can think of it as a parallel oneshot; after all, I did say that if you don't feel like reading the backstory bits don't bother.

Inakura: Freak and Kiara are blood-related, so I don't know if Kovu's possible reactions to any conversation he might try to make with her would be justified. Though of course, he would probably be acting out of jealousy, and also he doesn't like Freak. Could happen. We'll see.

Tearthgrrl: Msafiri is unfortunately too established in the Pride for anyone to really suspect her. Backstory on why she's so trusted coming soon. I do believe that she does have a great deal of compassion for her Pride, but that just takes a far back seat to the love she lost when Chukizo killed her son. And you're right, Banzai should watch his language. Hence, he shall be punished, and it will be interesting to see if he survives...

Jagabor: Usiku is not the leader of the Bloody Shadows and never has been. I think it was ambiguous wording on my part that led you to believe this, but it ain't so!

MattII: The hyena bit was to show how much they care about each another, and how they regard T family, even though she is theoretically an outsider. More backstory about Mufasa's slow but sure transition coming up soon. As for finding Freak a new name... I can't see it happening. That's what he is after all, and no matter how hard he tries, no matter what he does, that's what he always will be. Doesn't it make you flinch each time he refers to himself as a freak?

Kovu 01: Glad you at least appreciated the backstory. My goal was to use it to bring things together. I don't write out a story ahead of time, I just throw stuff down and see where it takes me. So in order to protect my story from possible plot holes, I use backstory. I see the potential flaws that you guys point out and justify them on my own time, best example is Chukizo convincing Scar to kill his family in Chapter 2. Works like a charm. As for Msafiri, she is... the serpent under the flower. She can bide her time until the opportune moment, then strike hard. And that's precisely what she's going to do.

S-s-l: Could you tell me the offending scene? I re-read Chapter 5 and I honestly don't know when Freak gets things too fast. It seemed perfectly in-character to me, but then, I wrote it.

So yeah... I've been working on things at my leisure, and the drawing of Freak is coming soon. I'm making his body close to that of a tiger, but he will neither really look like a lion, tiger, or tigon, as he's none of the above: he's a freak. I am no artist, but I can make okay sketches I guess.

We will, for the first time, see another level to Chukizo's mother.)

* * *

Simba growled.

How he wanted to sink his claws into that zebra, kill it, tear it open, and consume it on the spot.

But he couldn't.

"_You want to live with us, you have to eat like us."_

Timon's words carried an implicit warning: attack another animal, ever, and you're out. And the tan juvenile was well aware of the fact that he couldn't possibly survive on his own. Not yet. He was too young.

Trying to remove temptation from his path, he turned and started to walk away.

Suddenly, the young lion heard the clatter of hooves behind him, and dodged to the side as the zebra thundered past him.

Confused, he looked behind him, and saw a hyena. Growling at the malice his heart still felt to the dog-like beings, Simba considered attacking.

But he thought better of it.

Despite the deep, deep gashes all over the charcoal gray hyena's body, the lion knew that he'd lose any fight with him instantly. Better to just wait it out... and watch as the animal died of its injuries.

But then logic and sympathy showed their ugly face in Simba. He did not recognize this hyena; it was not part of the foursome that had tried to kill his father. He was different... not even from the Pride Lands or Outlands, but from somewhere much different...

And he was injured. Despite his parentage, specifically his father, it seemed as if his mother's side had won out after all. So Simba suddenly ran over to the hyena, as the latter growled in surprise.

"Get away, or I'll kill you," he threatened, though the lion couldn't miss the obvious pain in his voice.

"Calm down, you're hurt! I want to help," the tan lion explained, but the hyena didn't back down.

Regardless, Simba moved towards him anyway. It earned him a swipe across the face that cut three gashes into his cheek. But the hyena was so close to bleeding to death... there was no strength behind the attack at all. He managed to stay on his feet for another minute, but collapsed in a heap of bloody fur and terrible wounds.

"_Not good,"_ thought Simba, then the skills taught to him by Rafiki before he could remember it kicked in.

Two hours later, the hyena should have been dead. And not just a little dead. Way dead. Any normal being that had taken such serious wounds would be, but an assassin of the Bloody Shadows can take more than one hit and live. And that's nothing to their leader, who himself was little more than a legend.

The gigantic hyena seethed at the pain all over his body. The assignment had been difficult: take down the matriarch elephant of a gigantic herd. Oh, he'd done so... but he'd been compromised by a high-flying bird, a friend of the elephants. They'd turned on him, and he managed to escape.

Sort of.

Even as Damu, leader of the Bloody Shadows ran across the dark savanna, he knew that his injuries were more than serious.

They were fatal.

But he wasn't upset. He'd managed to severely injure another elephant with him, as well, and as the hyena licked his muzzle, he found, with a start, that elephant meat was uncommonly succulent. Though the herd was fifty strong, they were incapable of capturing him or killing him on the spot

And that was to be expected.

Damu had trained since birth. His first meal, his first real meal, not the milk that his mother gave, was the flesh of his brothers and sisters. They had been powerful beings... and by consuming them, he would be that much stronger.

But even such a hyena has his limits. And going up against the combined efforts of a herd of elephants very nearly brought him there.

Oh, he'd escaped, of course, but what was in question was his survival after the mission. And being that he'd known how to kill since practically his birth... Damu knew that he was as good as dead.

The hyena felt the will to live leave him, and after a long while to a plush seat of jungle shrubbery

"_Heaven, eh. Who'd have known that I qualify?"_ thought the dark hyena, as he manged to open his eyes.

"Don't move," growled Simba through clenched teeth.

The juvenile had to keep his teeth shut in order to tie the herbal leaves around Damu's many horrific wounds. Though the denizens of the Bloody Shadows knew how to do many things... healing was not among their talents.

"What are you doing?" Damu growled, but then flinched as pain shot through his body when he attempted to budge.

"I said, don't move, you idiot! Do you want to die?"

"..."

The dark hyena didn't know what to do. He'd never really been spoken down to for his entire life, and now this little kitty was ordering him around? If he was in any sort of fighting condition... Simba's entrails would be splattered all over the Jungle floor.

"This'll hurt..." Simba said.

The lion was going to try a radical procedure, one that Rafiki was just working on the last he heard. It had a low chance of success, especially when attempted by such an amateur in the art of medicine. But if now was the time for risky measures, now was it. Damu would certainly die otherwise.

Suddenly, the juvenile threw a reactive, secret combination of herbs and other plants all over the hyena. He'd spent almost an hour finding them, even in the rich, diverse Jungle, and longer still preparing the Assassin Lord, as well as mixing his herbs in just the right manner...

The hyena howled, as his body caught fire. Literally. Simba hadn't made the combination perfectly, and now he could only watch in horror as the acrid smell of burned fur filled the air. But slowly... the flames died down.

Damu coughed, and slowly, shakily stood. The lion felt a brief moment of elation, before he was lifted off the ground and pinned to a tree; sharp, yellowed teeth not millimeters from his exposed neck.

"What did you do that for, cub? Answer!" the dark hyena commanded.

"Please..." Simba choked, "I was only helping you! You'd have died if I didn—"

"Shut up," Damu growled, and the lion abruptly stopped talking, but didn't look away.

"Who are you?" the hyena demanded.

"Simba."

"Where are you from? Where's your pride?"

"I was from the Pride Lands. My father... King Mufasa... he was killed by my uncle Scar," the lion sniffled a bit at the mention of the terrible event.

"Why did you help me?" Damu asked.

"Because..." Simba suddenly chuckled, looking incredibly like the old mandrill or his distant relative, "you looked like you needed care."

The sight of the youngster laughing, even in such a terribly situation made Damu believe that his intentions were benevolent. After all, he only knew of one lion that had the guts to kill for his own welfare besides acts of predation. This Scar fellow, whoever he was... could be an interesting character. Too bad that Simba was the one who'd helped him...

Damu suddenly growled, but released the young lion. After turning away, facing the Jungle at large, the dark hyena spoke.

"I am Damu, leader of the Bloody Shadows... the Assassin Lord. I am..." he growled, "indebted to you, Simba, son of Mufasa. Hence... I shall not kill you, and your lands will forever remain unmarred by the hand of the Bloody Shadows, even if you do not live there now."

He suddenly turned, glaring at the juvenile.

"However, if you EVER tell a soul of the nature of this arrangement... I shall consider my debt paid and will kill you immediately. If you must talk of it... say that it was... a business agreement, of sorts."

Damu shuddered. Never had he ever dreamed that another being would ever, ever help him. Things like that just weren't done in the Bloody Shadows. If he was less cynical, he might have felt _thankful_ to Simba.

"And now, I take my leave of you. Remember... tell no one, young lion. I do savor the meat of another predator."

With a laugh, the dark hyena suddenly ran off into the distance, apparently fully healed from his injuries. Simba stared after him for a minute, but then turned away, shaking his head.

"Man... life in this Jungle keeps getting better and better..." he grumbled, feeling bitter of the situation hat he'd been thrust into.

However, in his mind, his words took on a whole different connotation as he saw Timon and Pumba come running towards him, talking excitedly about a logful of untouched grubs.

"_Keeps getting better and better,"_ he thought, and with a laugh, took off towards his two greatest friends in the world.

* * *

Msafiri had been with the Desert Pride for a little over a year at the time. Though she was a foreigner and had arrived on the same day as the disaster with the tiger, who was by now nothing more than a dried skeleton and a whole mess of bad memories, she had been assimilated into the pride rather easily.

But one thing her heart still longed for... was a mate.

However, the Desert Pride had a shortage of males. And though there were now six male cubs, they were all still practically newborns. Anyway, three of them were abominations: Ziwi, the deaf, Dhaifu, the weakling, and Jinga, the retard; and Msafiri did have a sense of... cleanliness.

Besides the alpha, there were two other males, but both were mated to lionesses too beautiful for Msafiri to compete with. Though the latter hunted much better than the rest of them, owing to her solitary lifestyle prior to coming to Africa, the males didn't see that. All they saw was what their carnal desires showed them.

The lioness sighed.

"_Mother always said that there's someone out there for everyone."_

She peeked over the sand dune, then promptly withdrew her head, grinning.

There was a good-sized gazelle herd there, and if she played her cards right, she could get away and come back later, with the rest of the lionesses. Though it would be child's play for her to take down a gazelle, there was only so much meat on the animals. It would be smarter to wait... after all, such good fortune did not come to the Desert often.

She slowly backed away, then started to sneak back towards the den. But off in the distance, something caught her eye.

"_Who is it?"_ she thought.

But the other lion was too far away to identify. Msafiri couldn't possibly tell who it was, not at this distance, but some of the lionesses in the Pride, especially the pampered, beautiful ones, did not have the presence of mind to maximize such rare opportunities.

"_You fool!"_ she thought.

No doubt, when Msafiri reported this stupidity, her friend, Samehe, de facto leader of the hunters, would have more than a word or two to say. And in the harsh months that her freakish cubs seemed to have brought with them into the Desert, she was often in a tensed-up state of anger; the mere existence of her cubs notwithstanding.

"_Damn!"_

The stupid lioness was now lowering herself, obviously preparing to pounce on a gazelle. Though she would be successful, well, hopefully, such actions would be very, very bad for the pride at large.

Msafiri was about a hundred yards from the lioness by now, approaching from the rear. It would be ridiculously hard to restrain her without the herd noticing... but she had to try...

Incredibly, just as the other was about to spring out of cover, Msafiri managed to get on top of her and pin her struggling form to the ground. In a strange twist of fate, the little amount of noise that they did make was enough to make the cautious gazelle move about five hundred yards off—out of earshot, but still easily catchable later.

As the Asiatic heard the muffled thuds of a thousand hooves moving across the sand at a slow pace, she was almost overcome with a sense of relief. So strong was her sudden emotion that she forgot her opponent.

The other cat suddenly freed himself, and in a sudden move, their positions were reversed. It was then that Msafiri noticed that the mysterious lion was neither of her pride... nor female.

He was a strong, tough lion, with many a hard-earned battle scar on his long, slender frame that barely stood out against the hot Desert sand. Even in her current position, literally underneath the soles of his paws, the lioness was somehow curious, fearful, and just a little aroused, all at once.

She was about to speak, but he growled and snapped his jaws.

"What was that for? You have no reason to attack me! My target was not among your pride, lioness of the Desert"

"...I'm sorry."

At that, the lion hit her across the face.

"That doesn't help me any. You scared away the gazelles, and no amount of sorrow will bring them back."

"No! They didn't go far. They're probably only two dunes away."

The lion glared at her, and uttered one cold word.

"Stay."

It didn't even occur to Msafiri to try to move as he got off of her to go and search for the prey. Only five minutes later, he walked back, carrying a plump gazelle in his jaws. He dropped it in front of him, and without any pretense, started eating then and there.

"You've alerted the herd. They're fleeing as we speak. My pride will not eat well today," Msafiri hollowly commented.

"Tough," was all the nomadic lion said as he threw his head back to swallow a particularly large hunk of flesh.

It wasn't long before he'd eaten his fill, leaving about a quarter of the animal untouched. Then, the nomad moved back to Msafiri.

"Now... who are you? You're not from around here, I can see," he said, analyzing the lioness.

"My name is Msafiri. I come from a land far off... I've only been here a year."

"And you?" she added as an afterthought.

The lion quirked an eyebrow and growled at the unwelcome question, but answered it anyway.

"They call me Tanga. I do not know of my parentage, but as far back as I can remember, I have grown up in the paws of the Bloody Shadows. I owe my life to them, completing every mission I'm told to with haste. That's why I'm passing through here..."

Tanga's voice trailed off. He'd said too much... and would now have to kill Msafiri. And though he'd killed many times, he'd always done so on an assignment or in an act of predation. To kill someone for a fault of his own... was something that he'd hoped never to do.

So it was with an expression of gray dismay that he walked towards the Asiatic lioness, extending his claws as he did so. Understandably, she hopped to her feet, backing away.

"What are you doing?" she asked, eying his razor sharp digits.

"I'm sorry," mumbled the lion, before suddenly roaring and leaping into the air.

He was far too fast for Msafiri to do anything but whimper and closer her eyes. But when she opened them again, she wasn't dead. The Asiatic found herself staring at Tanga's feet, and when she looked up, the expression on his face could only be described as conflicted.

"I don't want to hurt you..." he managed to say, slowly retracting his claws.

Eyes shimmering, threatening to spill tears at any moment, the lioness stood, and nuzzled Tanga on the neck. Being that he'd grown up among hyenas, he'd scarcely met other big cats before and even those few interactions had always ended with the death of the other. Being touched like this... was a totally intoxicating experience for him.

But he found that he liked it, a lot, and nuzzled her back. Like the case of Chukizo and Scar, it wasn't long before the tender motions turned into something more...

Tanga laid down beside Msafiri, looking at her angled, hard, but to him absolutely beautiful face. He reached out a paw to stroke her. She noticed, grinned, and started to like his digits clean. The lion purred in pleasure, but spoke with a hint of pain in his voice.

"Msafiri... I'm no father. And the Bloody Shadows; they're my home. I can't stay..."

But the lioness only snuggled against his paw, enjoying his presence while she could.

"That's alright. I love you the way you are; I wouldn't ask you to change for anything. My mother... raised me alone. I want to follow in her footsteps, and do the same. We were made for each other... but we both need our space."

A tear leaked from the corner of Tanga's eyes at her words.

"Yeah," he rasped, wrapping an arm around her, holding her close.

"But not forever. When our children no longer need me... I will join you in the Bloody Shadows, my love. Until then, you will be in my heart and mind every day."

"_Like Mother."_

The lion nodded, rolling to his feet. He had to leave, and he couldn't bear any painful farewells.

So all he said was, "Until next time, my mate," before disappearing over the next dune.

* * *

Msafiri had done everything. Announced her decision to the Pride, waited for months until the best season to travel arrived, plotted out the quickest route to the Bloody Shadows, and had every oasis, danger, every inch of the land between her and where her mate was waiting.

The lioness knew better than to try to get to the Jungle. The sheer cliff that separated it from the Desert was all but unclimbable, she'd seen that the day that they'd pursued Chukizo...

Her expression darkened. No doubt that by now, more than a full month since the little freak had been driven from the Desert, Chukizo was dead. No animal that grew up in a desert could possibly be expected to live in the Jungle, especially not a cub that had just barely begun to eat meat.

And it was stupid to even try to cross over the volcanic mountain ranges to the west of the Jungle. Besides the obvious dangers of lava and pyroclastic death from the sky, there was nothing to eat, and it was more than a two-week journey on foot through ridiculously complex terrain. To try to cross the mountains... was suicide.

Getting through the hills to the northwestern part of the Desert would be no cakewalk either. That's why Msafiri had recently overeaten: two whole gazelles. Normally, such indulgence was reserved for the alphas and their mates, but this time, an exception was made: at the request of Samehe.

Msafiri sighed. Her friend had always been at her side through thick and thin. She'd held her paw during birth, she'd convinced the pride to allow her in... even though the Asiatic was the older one, she often found herself thinking of Samehe as an older sister.

She heard the soft tap-tap of paws entering the cool den, and turned to see her friend enter, a sad smile on her muzzle.

"Msafiri... I can understand why you'd want to leave. But... I stayed here, even though this land cursed me with four freaks, one of which might still be alive, for all we know."

The Asiatic closed her eyes, tasting bitterness in her mouth. Only two things could bring out the dark side of Samehe: her dead or estranged cubs, and anything that wasn't in the pride's best interests.

"Samehe, you know I can't stay. I can hardly imagine the pain you felt when you found that you were pregnant. But the pain I feel every day at waking up to a world without my precious son... I can't bear it. I'm not as strong as you."

"...I'll agree with that," said the younger lioness, and with a playful growl, launched herself onto Msafiri.

The two tumbled around for a moment, giggling, batting each other around, both knowing that neither would come to harm. They rolled around all over the floor of the den, never with one having a clear advantage over the other. Eventually, however, the call of fur and moving paws slowed, then halted.

"Msafiri... we're pals, aren't we?" asked Samehe, finding that this time she was the one who come out on the bottom.

"Mm-hmm... right," said Msafiri, ruffling the head-fur of the other lioness.

Samehe suddenly started to quietly cry. It was not something that anyone had seen her ever do before; not even during the birth of her cubs had she shed a tear.

"I don't know what I'm gonna do. We've been together for so long... I can't imagine life without you..." she sobbed.

Shocked, Msafiri felt herself starting to cry as well. But she wrapped her arms around the other lioness, hugging her; this time, she was the big sister.

"Hush... it's okay."

Samehe made a few more sobs, then calmed, allowing herself to be held one last time. Around such a compassionate being... she could feel some of her friend's benevolence rub off on her.

"Msafiri... are we... bad? I mean... exiling Chukizo was one thing. But the others... I allowed Ziwi to die in front of me, though I could have protected him. Dhaifu, he was the only one that we I couldn't have saved... but I could have eased his passing. Instead... I watched him slowly starve to death, and never once did I allow him to take my own milk. And Jinga," she shuddered, "I enjoyed his pleas at the time. But now... I can hear them in my dreams," she ended, disgusted.

"I... they had nothing to do... with the way they were brought into this world. But I treated them like it was their fault. Chukizo, if I had shown her love... maybe, just maybe... she wouldn't have done what she did."

Msafiri thought before speaking in a stern tone.

"Samehe... she's responsible for her own actions. Of course, if we treated her differently, she would have grown up differently... but she was an abomination. A freak of nature. Could we really be expected to love trash like that? It's generous of us to have even kept her. But to love her? ...That's..." the Asiatic didn't have the words.

"But... maybe. Maybe things could have been different."

Msafiri shook her head.

"Fate is fate, and fate, like life, is cruel. No matter how hard we try, we can't change what will be."

The lioness sighed. Must she really leave on a note like that?

"Samehe... put it out of your mind. It's too late, anyway. They're all dead," she ended hollowly.

The younger lioness nodded, almost sadly, as her friend walked out of the cave, starting her long journey to the Bloody Shadows.

"Good-bye, old friend," Msafiri said, "I probably won't see you again. But maybe, somehow... I'll speak to you. Somehow."

Samehe nodded, willing herself not to cry, and watched for over an hour as the one so close to her that they may as well have been sisters finally disappeared over the edge of a far away sand dune.

She looked to the sky, thinking.

"_Maybe..."_

* * *

The Asiatic lioness sighed as she finally made it through the Lower Plains. The pride that lived there was strange, to say the least. Living in virtual isolation for generations, they'd started to inbreed, and now there were few lions left without some easily noticeable disability.

They'd welcomed her, of course, seeing her as a new source of blood that might breathe life back into their pride. But they'd dismissed her just as quick when they found out that she was already mated, and would not be staying in their lands for any amount of time. She'd passed through the Lower Plains in less than two weeks, and was glad to leave it behind.

Now, she was at the virtual doorstep of the Bloody Shadows. Though there was no official boundary between said land and the Lower Plains, the lioness could tell when she stepped over the unspoken one.

All at once, it was like a spotlight had been pointed right at her. She looked all around, listened hard, and sniffed the air, but could detect nothing with her normal senses. It was only the icy chill that you get when you're being watched...

Suddenly, she heard the softest pitter-patter of rapidly approaching steps, and turned as fast as she could. But it was too late.

The lioness was knocked off her feet and held down by three heavily-built hyenas—guard dogs, of sorts.

"Don't move, stranger. Try to escape, and we'll eat you," one said, and from the chuckles and growls of assent from his comrades, Msafiri knew better than to try otherwise.

"Who are you, and what are you doing here? ...Bear in mind that if we don't like your answer, well, it won't be pretty."

"My name is Msafiri. I am the mate of Tanga, an assassin of the Bloody Shadows."

The impatient barking and growling stopped at that. Again, it was silent, and the lioness felt her assailants stop restraining her. Getting up, the Asiatic looked at the leader, tilting her head to the side.

"Tanga, huh... you'd better come with us. Saliti... he'll want to see you."

"_Saliti?"_ Msafiri thought to herself.

But she knew better than to speak. Though she could only see the three hyenas... she could feel the eyes of dozens upon her, as if the Shadows themselves were alive.

She was brought before the new Assassin Lord, Saliti of the Bloody Shadows. This hyena was younger and less heavily built than Damu, but the same exact shade. Muscles were tight under his skinny form, and he exuded confidence with every move.

"Msafiri of the Desert, formerly of the far-off land of India... your mate is no longer with us."

The lioness swore. Had her whole trip been a waste of time? But she managed a small bow.

"Then where is he, my lord?"

"Dead," came the curt answer.

"What?" Msafiri gasped.

She'd only managed to deal with the death of her son, barely, by the thought that she'd be able to rejoin Tanga that much sooner. But now with him gone...

The lioness stumbled to the floor, sobbing into her paws. Courteously, Saliti waited a few minutes before speaking again.

"He died on a mission, fighting for the betterment of the Bloody Shadows till he could fight no longer. He was a great soldier. Hence... I will grant you, his mate, a favor."

"But there is a condition."

"We will do what you want... as long as there is a conceivable profit in it for the Bloody Shadows. For instance, if an animal offends you, he will soon end up dead, our bellies filled with his meat. Do you understand?"

The lioness managed to nod, but couldn't imagine why she'd need such a force... for any reason.

"To contact us, you merely need to go to any body of water near a forest, stare at the nearest raven you see for ten seconds, and speak, "Shadows shed no blood. He'll relay what you say after that to us... Then, we will come to you."

"And now, Msafiri of the Desert, our discussion is closed. You may travel through our lands without fear of assault. But I don't imagine that a lion like yourself would find them very appealing," he said with a harsh smile.

"...Tanga loved his home. And I will too."

"_No matter how much you're watching me."_

Saliti grinned.

"A wise answer. Now... leave," he said coldly, "I have work to do."

Msafiri was a bit miffed at his condescending tone, but knew that if she dared try anything, she'd be dead. And, in hindsight, his "favor" was nothing more than allowing her to mark out a meal for the Bloody Shadows. Well, she wouldn't do that easily.

So the lioness bowed, and left the Assassin Lord without further ado. It was another two weeks until she left the area... but indeed, for two weeks, she'd felt that every single move she made was watched, recorded, analyzed. Msafiri left the Bloody Shadows with no regrets... but she always remembered that shadows shed no blood.

* * *

On the day that Scar's cruel rule finally ended with his life, the Pride Lands were a rush of activity. The hyenas had left on their own accord, knowing that they were no longer welcome. They went to the Southwest, preferring the barely inhabitable Outlands to the truly hostile Shadow Lands of the northwest.

When Msafiri entered on that same day, she walked in on a clandestine meeting, taking place at the border between the Outlands and Pride Lands. All of the attendees were lionesses... rather angry, harsh-looking lionesses.

The Asiatic had the presence of mind to avoid their attention, and listened in.

"Sisters," said one, a scrawny light-tan lioness that she'd later find out to be Zira, "Scar's rule was the greatest time that the Pride Lands have ever seen. It's too bad... that he sent us on a hunting trip when the attack took place. It's the fault of that usurper Sarabi: she couldn't hunt properly as we do, squeezing the land dry of every herd that dares set hoof within range of our claws."

"And now, we are to accept Simba, the son of the horrid Mufasa, so righteously overthrown by Scar as our new King? Simba, who abandoned the Pride Lands years ago, only to come back and demand a seat at the throne, taking advantage of the heretic Sarabi and her followers?"

By now, her voice had risen into an angry roar, one that was answered in kind by the ten or so lionesses that were gathered around her.

"Tomorrow... we shall strike him down. His mate, Nala, will not protect him, not from our combined efforts. In the end, we shall be victorious, and carry the rule of Scar on, even after his death!"

"_Oh no,"_ thought Msafiri.

Backing away in the same, stealthy manner that she'd used to sneak up on Tanga so long ago, the Asiatic managed to escape without being noticed.

"_I've got to warn this Simba, wherever he is."_

Msafiri rushed off into the distance, her heart set upon protecting someone that she didn't even know. After all... it's not like Simba was a tiger.

* * *

"...and then she said that tomorrow... they're going to kill you."

Msafiri had been taken to Simba by the loyal lionesses, who happened to be out hunting at the time. They'd of course been cautious of the newcomer, but at her urging had listened to her and brought her to Pride Rock.

The Asiatic had refused to speak with them alone, knowing that the traitors might have placed a spy among the loyalists. If she'd tried to convince the lionesses... she could have been forced out by the urgings of the spy.

"...I see," was all Simba said.

The Lion King doubted that this newcomer was lying—there was simply no motive. And he hadn't missed the way that Zira had volunteered all of her 'friends' to go hunting, after coming back from an excursion that Scar had planned.

"You're welcome to stay with us tonight. Tomorrow... we'll test Zira and her followers. I will walk out of Pride Rock to the water hole, apparently alone. However, the rest of you will be at the water hole already. If they try to ambush me... we will do what's necessary."

Simba closed his eyes, and after a moment, opened them again, looking at Msafiri.

"_I hope you're not lying."_

* * *

Simba walked alone to the water hole. Earlier that morning, Zira and her friends had again volunteered to go 'hunting', and the Lion King had allowed them to. After they'd left, he quickly ordered the loyal lionesses to get to the waterhole ASAP, being sure to impress upon them the importance of not being seen.

Another two hours later, he got up and walked to the water hole alone. And sure enough, he could feel danger thick in the air, ignoring it, until suddenly, nearly ten traitors, all lionesses, attached him at once.

He'd resisted conservatively, mostly avoiding harm while he waited for the loyalists to come and back him up...

With a roar, Sarabi, Nala, and more than a dozen of the others bounded up, catching Zira and her comrades totally by surprise. And at this point... logic was not yet trumped by malice in the rebellious lioness's heart.

Swearing revenge, Zira had ordered her troops to cease their attack. It was then that Simba forever banished the group to the Outlands forever, under pain of death, despite the knowledge that the traitors had at least three cubs among their ranks; cubs too young to understand the decisions of their parents...

Back at Pride Rock, Msafiri was inducted into the pride with much happiness. Everybody knew that if she hadn't gone out of her way to do what she did, then Simba would be dead, and the way of Scar could very easily be brought back onto the land by the next male... Zira's son, whose father was unknown...

Out of the whole pride, however, only Msafiri was the one who still wondered if there might still be a spy among the loyalists.

* * *

Msafiri withdrew from Freak.

There was no mistaking it. He was the spitting image of that tiger that she'd seen on the boat, and later, near death on the Desert beach. The Asiatic didn't know how she felt about that. On the one paw... if she'd helped the tiger out on the boat, then things would be totally different. But on the other paw... he was still a tiger. The lioness closed her eyes, thinking back to what she'd said to Samehe.

"_Fate is fate, and fate, like life, is cruel. No matter how hard we try, we can't change what will be."_

"_Yes. That makes sense. That one... was an enemy tiger. After what my family suffered due to the actions of beings like him... my hatred towards his kind is just. As is my hatred towards this freak, for being the son of the one who murdered my son."_

The Asiatic managed to cover her feelings with a sad smile.

"Simba's right, you know. We should all let go of the past..."

"_How can I let go of my son?"_

"...so that we can move on together to a peaceful future."

Though the lions, hyenas, and even Usiku of the Bloody Shadows seemed to agree, Freak's distrusting expression didn't change.

"_Damn it... he knows."_

But the others seemed to write this little oversight off as part of the li-tigon's nature. After all, he was a freak, and couldn't be expected to have normal feelings.

Much to Freak's dismay, the lionesses suddenly started to crowd around him, sniffing him, checking him out. He felt claustrophobic, almost choked, though no cat ever got closer than five feet to him. It was all he could do to prevent himself from running away immediately. And it made sense. Every time another animal had gotten close to him, they'd been threatening him; the sole exception was Chukizo.

"_Everyone is a threat,"_ Freak thought, not lowering his guard for a second.

Msafiri held her smile even as everyone else crowded around the li-tigon. She knew that the hyenas, at least, were watching her, and now that they were subjects of the Pride Lands, they might well report any abnormalities to Simba, Nala, Kiara, or Kovu.

But the black hyena caught her interest. She thought back to her time in the Bloody Shadows...

* * *

"Saliti... since when has he been the leader of the Bloody Shadows? I heard that it was Damu," Msafiri said to her escorts.

"The Assassin Lord is the student of Kivuli of the Bloody Shadows. He's been our leader for..." the lead hyena glanced at his comrades, and though Msafiri couldn't see how they signaled the answer to him, he spoke up again after not even a second.

"... two years now. Ever since he... heh... killed and ate his father, Damu."

The Asiatic only nodded at that. What more could she expect from assassins? But still, she wondered about how the traditions of the Bloody Shadows worked.

"And what would happen if he was overthrown by someone else? Would his debts pass on to the next leader?"

The leader shook his head.

"No. Though the Bloody Shadows takes on the debts of its leader, those debts are nullified with a change of leadership."

"...I see."

* * *

"_So... there's no way to tell if the Assassin Lord has changed again. I can't ask or even inform Usiku. They told me that cubs weren't allowed to leave the Bloody Shadows,it's how they insure the loyalty of the assassins. It could very well be... that this Usiku is a rogue, or worse."_

"_When I inform Saliti of his location, that's all the more he'll be willing to help me..."_

The lionesses continued to crowd around the li-tigon, getting closer and closer, until they noticed that his body language quite obviously said he did _not_ want them to. So, they slowly backed away, though still looked at Freak curiously.

"Ahem... so, we'll need food for one more today," said Simba, instantly regaining the undivided attention of the pride.

"As always, I'll be here after patrolling the lands. ...Cousin, where are you going?" asked the Lion King, curious when Freak started to move away.

The li-tigon looked at Simba strangely.

"If I don't hunt, I won't eat," he said simply.

"Haha... no, that's not how it works in a pride. We men don't hunt, that's for the females. Our job is to make sure that the lands are secure."

"...Secure from what?"

"Oh, you know... rogues, assassins, enemy prides... things like that."

"So, you don't hunt at all?" asked Freak, bewildered.

"That's right."

Freak seemed to think for a moment. Then, he called to the lionesses.

"It's my first day under your hospitality. _I_ will hunt," he said.

It was neither a command nor suggestion, it was a statement of what was going to happen. The lionesses looked at Simba for approval, who nodded, despite the unintentional rudeness that Freak had just shown him.

The li-tigon was about to leave, when he glanced at Simba and asked one question.

"Simba... are there any animals that you have agreements of peace with at this time?"

Freak knew that if he broke some kind of treaty with a resident of the Pride Land, that wouldn't bode well. But thankfully, the Lion King shook his head.

"No... all animals in the Pride Lands are fair game. But cousin!" Simba called, as Freak started to walk away, "Don't bite off more than you can chew."

The li-tigon recognized that expression as an attempt at humor. He then tried to do something he'd never tried before, something he'd never imagined he'd need to do. Lips quivering, he bared his teeth. But it wasn't a snarl. It was Freak's equivalent of... a grin.

Understanding Simba's pleasantly surprised expression as a signal that the Lion King did not interpret his actions as a threat, Freak ran too fast for any lion to catch him.

Simba chuckled, and looked at the famished hyenas. Usiku himself hadn't eaten as well as he normally would; seeing as how he had to track the li-tigon. Uvuli was the only hyena in the group that actually looked properly fed. And seeing the baby female play with her father brought warm feelings to the lion's heart..

He surveyed his land, while speaking.

"You four are now equal subjects of the Pride Lands. And as such... you are welcome to whatever my cousin brings down."

Simba smiled at the hyenas's collective gasp.

"_I've got a feeling it's going to be a lot,"_ he thought, as the lionesses walked back into the den, Nala nuzzling him as she did so.

* * *

Freak was a great hunter by any measure. But even he had yet to bring down one animal.

The li-tigon had seen them, of course, from time to time. But up until now, he did not consider himself strong enough to try to hunt one.

"_But fighting against all the hyenas after running that far, staying undetected by Kiara and Kovu... none of them will be a match for me."_

"_Not if I'm smart."_

Elephants are a rare treat for lions. But even then, it takes quite a bit of teamwork and coordination to separate a calf from its mother and then kill it. But Freak didn't have his eye on a calf. He had his eye on a strong, fat male.

"_If I kill him, that's enough meat to feed all for days."_

The herd had spread apart a bit, so that they could all eat in peace. The bull, he was towards the center of the group. And Freak knew better than to hope that if he killed the bull, the rest of the herd would leave him alone.

"_I don't understand it. They can't help dead animals. Why attack?"_

But the li-tigon shook his head out of the clouds. There were many things he didn't understand, and this was just another one of them.

Freak had an idea. He'd seen the curiosity of elephants before, and knew that they'd travel for miles, just to watch a rat go about his business. And the li-tigon's tail was just about the size and shape of a rat...

The elephant saw something flicker out from behind a bush. He blinked, but didn't see it again for a second, so he went back to grazing upon the tender grass of the Pride Lands.

There it was again! The strange object stayed in view for a second longer, then disappeared. But now the elephant was interested. He searched around for it, prodding at the bush. But nothing was there. None of the other elephants seemed to notice it, and there wasn't the slightest cause for alarm.

Again! Several meters away now. The male walked towards it, this time, lifting up the entire bush with his trunk. But still, there was nothing.

Now it was farther away. The elephant thundered towards it, getting a few humored glances from his herd. But they saw no danger, so just chuckled, and looked back at their food. No one noticed that little by little, he was being led away from the herd to the southwest... to the dry brambles of the Outlands...

An hour later, the bull was gasping for breath. He'd followed the strange object obsessively, failing to realize that he was totally out of sight from his herd. He hadn't even understood that by going straight through the waterhole, he'd thrown off his scent trail sufficiently that they wouldn't be able to find him...

The Hell of it was, he was no closer to his goal. The striped thingy would disappear and reappear on its own accord, each time forcing the elephant to run a little faster than before, tiring him out bit by bit.

"_Where is that damn thing?"_ the male thought, looking around in frustration.

Suddenly, hearing a roar, he turned around. The fact that he was utterly alone, out of earshot and sight of his herd finally dawned on him. He grinded his teeth, and started to back away from the roar.

"_Just one lion. I can fight it off easily,"_ he thought, smirking.

But suddenly, the roar was answered by a chorus of others. They were all different in tone and position...

"_A whole pride, eh... should be a challenge. But it takes that many of them to take a calf. They're no match for m—"_

The bull felt a prick. That's all. Just a prick. Not a horrible slash that makes your entire body want to go numb from the pain; a prick, like what one would feel from a thumbtack.

"What was that?" he said out loud, looking around.

"_A bee?"_

Suddenly, the bull felt terribly weak, and fell to one knee. As he did, he felt something warm and wet spill all over his gray legs, and looked down.

"_Blood...?"_

But it didn't quite register with him that he was dying. He was unable to think clearly from the massive blood loss. The elephant died painlessly, even as more and more blood gushed from the relatively small wound directly on his jugular.

A few minutes later, when all of the blood had left the bull and his slow, heavy breathing had finally ceased, Freak stepped out of his hiding place, his paws already an inch in the thick red liquid. The li-tigon lowered his head and tasted it, drinking it like water.

"_Good... it's safe. It would be a terribly waste if we couldn't eat it."_

Ventriloquism was another little something that Freak had learned in the Jungle. He'd watched how a lemur had manipulated his vocal chords to make his voice sound different, as well as changing where it seemed to come from. On a whim, the li-tigon had practiced and then perfected it, knowing that it might prove a useful trick to have up his sleeve.

Apparently, he was right.

The li-tigon walked over to see that the elephants eyes were already closed. Then, he turned and left, headed for Pride Rock, leaving only bloody footprints and a dead beast behind...

* * *

Usiku was among his fellow hyenas. He'd lowered his guard around them, even allowing his daughter to play with the four, especially T. He knew, however, that despite the latter's preferred disposition, she was a hardened killer; and knew to do what was necessary. Life, after all, had been cruel to her.

"So you see... when Damu was overthrown by Saliti, the student of my father, I knew that my own days in the Bloody Shadows were numbered. In recent years... he's ordered us to take on worse and worse assignments. Before, there was a code of honor... we weren't to kill those that had never done wrong in their lives. Even my so-called father believed in this. But Saliti's rule has changed all that. I've known comrades that killed mothers in birth... for no crime at all besides justified acts of predation."

Ed scratched his head, and jabbered to Banzai, the only one capable of understanding him. But the other hyena nodded, and looked at the assassin.

"But that don't make sense at all! I mean... you were gonna kill Freak... but he didn' do nuthin' but what he had to. If what you just said is true, man... you're a hypocrite."

Usiku shook his head.

"That's different. Rules don't apply to him... he's a freak," the black hyena explained, looking at the other four for support.

He got it, kind of. During the time the former Shadow Landers had spent with Simba, he'd discussed many things with them. And slowly... they'd begun to accept that Freak's story _had_ to be true. And if it was... they had no justifiable quarrel with him.

That didn't mean, of course, that they didn't dislike him. No, there was still plenty of bitterness there. But they could live with him and work with him without constantly planning his death, maybe; though they'd likely never be true friends with the li-tigon. If, of course, the latter was even capable of friendship.

"So... in the end, whyja leave da Bloody Shadows?" asked Shenzi.

Though she'd never admit it to a soul, the assassin... _interested_ her. He was older than her by a bit, but not so much that they were in different generations. And he was as hard and tough as she was. Even more.

Usiku closed his eyes, and then opened them, looking at his daughter. She was rolling around at the mouth of the cave, pawing gently at a butterfly.

"_That would be of her mother's doing."_

"I did it... so that Uvuli could live safely."

"You see... to ensure the loyalty of his assassins, Saliti took many hostage. My daughter... she was next on his list, seeing as how I'd expressed my discontent with his manner of rule more than once. I came home one day to see her carried away in the jaws of two of his henchmen. I caught up with them... and, well, let's just say that what I did makes that blood bath in the Shadow Lands look like cub's play," he said darkly.

"I had to leave then. I've been able to easily avoid detection by most other animals. The assassins, and Freak, however... they're a bit different. It was nearly suicidal... but that mountain range to the southwest of here? Well, it's not quite as impassable as they make it out to be. Not if you're smart."

"_And desperate."_

"But what happens," asked T, "if they find out where you are?"

Usiku was silent for a moment.

"Well then... I expect you to hide my daughter while I hold them off. Say that she died at the paws of the freak. But she must survive. For Uvuli, I'm willing to die."

"_I'd have died for Ahali, too."_

The hyenas nodded in silence at that. Despite his incredibly rough exterior, they were all starting to see that Usiku was just another being like them... trying to do what's best for his family.

* * *

Simba was reclining in the den, Nala at his side, Kiara and Kovu a bit farther off.

"I wonder what he's going to bring back for us," the cream-colored lioness said, resting her head, on the Lion King's paw.

"Me too," piped up Kovu, "but do you think it's safe? He seems like exactly the kind of guy that would poison it."

Simba growled at that, but could see the logic in the statement.

"We'll allow him to take the first bite; and hope that it's not some Jungle herb that he's acquired a resistance to."

Kovu seemed to like that idea, and the dark lion went back to napping with Kiara.

A few minutes later, a voice was heard from the mouth of the den.

"Actually... I haven't brought back anything at all."

The lionesses perked up at that, but relaxed when they saw that it was 'only' Freak.

"_How on Earth did he hear us?"_ thought Simba, Nala, and Kovu all at once.

But the li-tigon's stony expression gave nothing away. Nala groaned.

"You mean you didn't get anything?" she said; dismayed at the way her hopes of not hunting for that day had been dashed away.

Freak shook his head.

"I did... but I couldn't bring it back," he answered.

The lionesses all quirked their eyebrows at that, but after a moment of thinking...

"_No way..."_

"Wait... did you kill an elephant?"

Now the li-tigon tilted his head.

"I don't understand what an elephant is."

Then, he turned.

"It's far away... we should get moving," he said simply, before hopping down from the tip of Pride Rock to the ground thirty feet below.

Simba shook his head, smiling.

"Banzai, Ed, Shenzi, T, Usiku... we'll have to go to the kill," he called, seeing the hyenas quickly emerge from their den, bowing.

"Hey, King Simba—what did he get? I love antelope," said T, licking her lips.

The Lion King shrugged.

"I don't know; he didn't tell us. But if he couldn't bring it back here... well, let's just wait and see what it is."

* * *

"It's not much farther," said Freak, from about twenty yards ahead of the Pride Landers.

The smell of blood was rank in the air. And Nala, the head of the hunters now that Sarabi was a little too old to take on the same challenges as the other lionesses, recognized it quickly.

"Oh, Gods..." she whispered, as the gigantic corpse came into view.

"What is it? Can you not eat it?" the li-tigon asked, a hint of guilt in his voice.

"No, no... we can eat it just fine," said Kiara, not noticing that the hyenas next to her were drooling in anticipation, being that they all hadn't _really_ eaten for... years.

"But... how the Hell did you take down an elephant, _alone?_ And that too, a bull?"

"It wasn't hard. I lured him away from the herd with the tip of my tail," Freak said, demonstrating.

He moved from one bush to another, and though the lions and hyenas were in a nearly open field, they never caught a glimpse of him at all except for when he wanted them to.

"And then," he said, emerging from their rear and causing them to jump a little, "I imitated all of your roars by... I think it's called throwing my voice. He thought I was coming from the north, but I came from his rear. After that, I just opened this," Freak said, pointing at the single wound on the elephant's jugular.

"Heh... there's no way that's true," said Kovu, scoffing.

Freak looked at him strangely.

"How else could I have done it?"

"Well... I dunno that. But throwing your voice in front of the elephant when you were _behind_ him? That's just... come on, you can't expect us to believe that," the dark lion said, looking around to see that his pride seemed to agree.

"It's not hard," said a voice from behind Kovu.

Growling, the young male turned. But no one was there.

"Just takes practice," said a voice from his left.

The dark lion turned again, but again, no one was there.

"It's useful in rare circumstances," said a voice to Kovu's right.

He roared a little, turned faster than ever, and tripped over his own feet. Kiara giggled, and the dark lion felt a pang of jealously run through him.

"So you see how it can be used to confuse a creature," said Freak, walking a bit closer to Kovu.

The dark lion suddenly jumped to his feet, roaring, and the li-tigon froze in his tracks.

"Why are you—"

"ENOUGH!" roared Kovu, then got into a stance that clearly showed his intentions to fight.

But Freak didn't react.

"Your King has guaranteed my safety. I have done you no wrong... and we're family," he said, trailing off.

"Why do you hate me?"

Kovu growled, but felt a heavy paw on his shoulder.

"He's right, you know," said Simba, looking down at his son-in-law with disappointment in his eyes.

"He took you hostage... because he had no other option. We all know that we would have killed him any other way. Kovu... it's time to forgive and forget. And like my cousin said," Simba refused to call him a freak, "we are family. Why _do_ you hate him?"

The dark lion's eyes tightened, and for the first time in his life, he looked at Simba with anger that was his alone, and not his mother's.

"Because he's a FREAK!" Kovu yelled, and ran off before anyone could stop him.

"Kovu!" said Kiara, making to follow him.

"No, Kiara," Simba said, almost sadly, "he needs... time alone."

The lioness sadly turned her attention back to the elephant; as she did, she noticed that it was all the hyenas could do to prevent themselves from leaping onto it. She managed a smile, despite herself.

"Well, cousin... traditionally, the one who kills the prey takes the first bite," said Simba, looking at the li-tigon.

Freak was look at the ground, with something very close to sadness in his eyes.

"Help yourselves. I... don't feel hungry," he said, and even faster than Kovu, he ran from the scene.

The family, now two short, looked sadly after the li-tigon. But a whimper from Uvuli turned their attention back to their fellow Pride Landers.

"Well... he said help yourselves... so why don't you go on and—"

The hyenas needed no more urging. Banzai, Ed, Shenzi, T, and then the baby all pounced onto the elephant and started to tear into it. Usiku gave a smile to the lions, then jerked his eyes skywards.

"_What are you gonna do?"_ he seemed to say, before he joined his brethren, albeit at a more reserved rate.

The lions all chuckled, and it wasn't long at all before they were all eating, side by side, of the li-tigon's incredible kill...

Only Freak had noticed that somehow, Msafiri had managed to sneak off. He'd thought that she was going to do her business, so to speak, and hadn't said a word.

Oh, she was going to do business, all right... but she wasn't taking a piss.

* * *

"_How the Hell did the Outlanders survive here?"_ Msafiri thought.

She'd left the Pride en-route to the kill, and was no poking around in the dead forests of the area, looking for a puddle, a stream, anything. She knew that this might be her only real chance to contact the Saliti, the Assassin Lord.

Finally, the Asiatic came upon a small lake. It had seemed like it had taken her forever... she'd gotten used to the lush plains of the Pride Lands; and forgotten the true thirst that everyone felt in the Desert.

Sure enough, there was a raven there. The harsh-looking black bird stared at Msafiri, and the lioness counted to ten as she stared back.

Then, she spoke.

"Shadows shed no blood."

The raven nodded once to show that he understood. Then, the Asiatic continued.

"There's a big cat here in the Pride Lands... a freak. His mother was Chukizo of the Jungle, and his father was Scar of the Pride Lands. His maternal grandparents were an Indian tiger, and Samehe of the Desert. His paternal grandparents were Ahadi and Uru, both of the Pride Lands. His is under protection... of the lions. But any animal that stands between Freak and death are... expendable," Msafiri said harshly.

The raven nodded again, then fluttered off, leaving only a sooty residue and some loose feathers behind. The lioness smirked.

"_Soon, my son... you will be avenged."_

* * *

"_Expendable?"_ thought Kovu with a start, as he backed away, careful to remain undetected by Msafiri.

"_That's not good... I've gotta tell Simba!"_ the dark lion suddenly started to run as he moved out of the lioness's earshot.

"_Wait..."_ he thought, slowing down, then stopping.

"_When the assassins come... I'll tell the freak that we'll fight them on two fronts. Then, I'll tell the others that Freak escaped, and wanted them to as well..."_

"_Yeah... that could work. That damn freak'll be gone, and we'll all be better off without him."_

"_I'll have to be careful... but it could work..."_

* * *

Strangely, Freak, Msafiri, and Kovu all arrived back at the elephant at the same exact time. The latter two smiled at the former horribly, but the li-tigon didn't understand their expressions. So, he just started eating the meat, and after a minute, the other two did as well.

The lions and hyenas didn't even noticed, such was their attention to their meal. Even Usiku had forgotten a good deal of his professionalism. But he never forgot his daughter, and every few seconds, made sure that she was eating well, and not choking on an odd bone or something.

Eventually, the feast ended, with a good third of the elephant remaining. All of the lions and hyenas had eaten their fill and much more, but still, there was much left over.

Freak noticed this.

"Should I not have killed him? There's a lot of wasted meat..."

Usiku grinned at him, slightly.

"I remember... I once killed a wildebeest for my mate. We both ate a lot of it, but there was still some left. I felt bad about wasting it... but then she told me that the only thing that mattered... was the fact that I did it for her."

The assassin no longer cared about keeping his life a secret. In the short time that he'd spent with the hyenas, the black hyena felt the thick walls of his training slowly wither away, and could now open himself up a little.

"_I wonder if Freak will ever be able to open up."_ (I'll leave it up to the reader to decide who's thinking that.)

The li-tigon considered Usiku's words. He seemed to agree, and nodded, licking his muzzle clean of blood.

"Just seems like a waste..."

* * *

Several weeks later, the Outlands were quiet. Nothing was there; nothing could live there. Even the lone raven that often perched on the moribund trees was nowhere to be seen.

In the depths of the dark, dry forest, a pair of green eyes appeared, lit up by the few remaining rays of sunlight that peeked over the horizon and into the harsh, dehydrated foliage. A few seconds later, another pair of eyes appeared. Then another. Then another.

There was a long pause, and then a hyena stepped out of the treeline. But it wasn't a hyena like Banzai, Ed, Shenzi, T, or even Usiku or Uvuli. It was a bit scrawnier than the tank-like black hyena; a charcoal shade of gray with occasional black spots.

"It's okay, Maumbu. There's no one here."

The rest of the twenty or so hyenas stepped out. There were both males and females, but seemed to be part of six distinct age groups. More or less, they were identical in both appearance and in the passive sense of malicious purpose that seemed to flow through their veins in the stead of blood.

"Umbu... did you catch scent of the elephant blood again?" called a younger male to an older female.

She sniffed in deeply.

"Yes, Umbu. It's only a few miles away. I don't smell anyone else... Umbu, do you see anything?" she asked another female.

This hyena peered all around the harsh, threatening Outlands. It was a moment before she spoke.

"No... we are alone. And the elephant... it is indeed quite close. There's enough of it left to fill our stomachs before we commence the mission."

"Okay, Maumbu... let's go," said yet another hyena, this one a male, and the group took off at a jog towards the elephant.

(A/N: Umbu is Swahili for sibling, and Maumbu is the plural of that. Yeah... they're all brothers and sisters, albeit from different litters.)

It was about half-an-hour until Maumbu reached the elephant carcass. It was rotting and it stank, but there was still a good quarter or so left. Not a single other predator had touched it; being that now there were none in the terrible Outlands. That isn't to say that flies and other pests hadn't done a number on it; oh no. In fact, most of the flesh was overridden with maggots to the point where Maumba couldn't take a bite without feeling the little grubs toss and turn in its mouth.

But Maumbu didn't care. In its cubhood, it had eaten things in far, far worse condition. This rotting elephant... in comparison, it was tasty.

Finally, all of the hyenas finished eating. The scout of the group looked over at one of his sisters, seeing that her muzzle was bloody. Courteously, he licked her clean, and the older female sighed at him in that irritated fondness that siblings hold for one another.

"Umbu... shall we attack now?"

The strategist seemed to meditate for a moment.

"Yes," he abruptly said, "the Shadows call for blood."

With its distinctive howl that had gained it both respect and fear under Saliti's rein over the Bloody Shadows, Maumbu made for Pride Rock...

* * *

(My first feeble attempt at romance. It's cheesy, I know. But meh... gotta switch things up now and then. Step out of my comfort zone.)

Chukizo's ears were perked up in anticipation. She'd counted down the days until Scar's next visit. She'd woken up extra early that morning, killing a zebra just for herself and her mate, then taken it back to the cave. After that, she'd thoroughly bathed herself, ignoring the yells and jeers and disgust of the Jungle inhabitants for 'fouling the water with her filth'. As always, they shut up when she gave them her best tigon roar, and went running for cover.

"_Damn cowards,"_ she thought, smirking on the outside, though the pain she felt at their hateful words was never dulled.

The tigon relaxed in her cave, napping lightly, always on high alert. She hadn't seen the lion for several weeks now.

"_It's been too long,"_ Scar thought, as he quietly made his way to the cave.

The dark lion smelled the distinctive odor of a zebra and its blood, mingling with another one that made his heart ache, fully remembering how much he'd missed Chukizo. Forgetting that he'd never successfully surprised her before, Scar suddenly grinned, and stealthily prowled along the Jungle floor into his little abomination's cave.

The tigon's ears and nose twitched, and she instantly, silently got to her feet. A rare smile brightened up her rugged features.

"_He knows he'll never be able to do it..."_ she thought, sighing, though she remained smiling widely.

Looking around the cave, Scar saw that Chukizo was nowhere to be found. But the the dark lion heard a soft _whoosh_, and felt his mate tackle him from the top. The two wrestled for a second, growling happily, batting at each other with their paws, even nipping; but of course, the tigon ended up on top.

"Pinned ya," Chukizo purred, leaning down to give the dark lion a lick on the nose.

"Hey—let me up," Scar said, struggling to get free despite the wide, unusual grin on his face.

The tigon did so, and the lion flipped to his feet. Instantly, the two nuzzled. They had the whole day together, and both knew that they were going to make it count. Eyes filled with tears, they both looked at each another lovingly, hating how they had to remain apart for so long.

"It's okay," Scar said, giving the tigon a friendly head butt, "my little abomination,"he ended on a slightly more upbeat note.

Chukizo laughed suddenly, and nuzzled her mate's head. The two remained like that for a long time, just enjoying the company of the other.

"Chukizo... would you like to play tag?" asked the dark lion eventually, completely out of blue.

The tigon tilted her head at the strange request.

"...okay..." she said, her confusion showing.

Scar gave her a toothy grin.

"You see... I had no one that would play with me. In the entirety of my life, I have never played a game with another lion," he ended on a bitter note.

Chukizo nuzzled him, and Scar felt his bitterness melt away.

"Come on... don't be like that on our day together. If you really want to, Scar... you're it!" the tigon suddenly said, batting the lion with a paw as she hopped away.

The dark lion's expression was one of pleasant surprise for a second, then mischievous determination took over. With a growl, he leaped after her, chasing her deep into the Jungle...

Two hours later, the two cats were tumbling down a hill-side. Scar had been able to catch Chukizo a fair few times, despite her obvious advantage in her home turf, so to speak.

"_When she finally comes to the Pride Lands... I'll be able to win definitively,"_ the dark lion thought, wrestling with his mate.

Suddenly, he changed tactics from trying to pin or just bat her around. Taking advantage of his scrawny, dexterous fingers, Scar tickled Chukizo on the sides. She suddenly giggled like a cub, uselessly trying to bat away the lion's impending victory. But he didn't let up, and continued to make her laugh in mirth until she could barely breath.

Incredibly, despite all that effort, Scar ended up on the bottom again. Both cats were gasping for breath, Chukizo still laughing gently; the sound of which was music to the lion's ears. With his paw, he stroked her muscled but very feminine foreleg, then her neck. She nuzzled his paw, and purred, closing her eyes as she rested her head against it.

"I love you, Chukizo," Scar said, scratching behind the tigon's ears with an extended claw.

"I love you too, Scar," the female said, and lowered herself down to her mate...

* * *

Mufasa and Taka were reaching the end of their cubhood. The former was taken out every day by Ahadi, and the latter generally had no expectations or responsibilities placed onto him. Mostly, he was expected to stay out of the way.

"We're going out now. Don't do anything stupid," Uru said, and without another word, left Pride Rock with all of the other lionesses; the hunting trip commencing.

The juvenile was alone.

There were some other cubs in the pride, but they never played with him. Off in the distance, he could see them playing with each another. The one time that he'd asked to join him, they'd shrugged him off like he was a piece of trash.

Taka, after all... it meant trash.

Alone, he went down to the waterhole to get a drink.

Alone.

So alone.

Besides his brother, he had not a friend in the world. There were few enough lions that could even stand his presence; his father was not among them.

Taka sighed, bending his head down to lap up some water. At least Mufasa was there for him.

But recently, even that had changed. The tan lion had been spending so much time around his father that Ahadi's distaste for Taka seemed to have rubbed off on him. Though they'd still lounge around together from time to time, those times were getting scarcer and scarcer. Taka couldn't help but wonder when they'd stop altogether.

Everyone else was ecstatic, of course. Mufasa was rapidly becoming a good future King, they said. So strong and wise, they said.

Taka agreed, of course... but he could feel the small, meager bit of attention he used slowly leave him completely. Nowadays, it was a rare treat for another to even acknowledge that he was alive.

"_It's okay..."_ he sighed, _"Once Muffy's king, he'll finally have time to play. Maybe he can even get other people to be nice to me,"_ the dark lion thought, brightening up a little at that; but inside, he knew that no matter how hard he tried, Mufasa would never have any time for him.

Taka bent his head down and started to lap up some of the cool, clear water, feeling it quench his thirst...

All at once, there were three strangled yelps, and as the dark lion quickly looked up, he saw three hyenas running from a very enraged mother hawk. Taka put his considerable mind to the test, and looked around for her nest. And there it was, high up in a tree, the baby hawk looking down at the scene with wide eyes.

The solution seemed obvious, though in hindsight, Taka didn't know what made him care. He picked up a pebble in his paw and hefted it up at the nest, striking it, and making the baby squeal in fear. At that, the mother broke off of her attack and flew back up to the nest, glaring at the three hyenas, almost asking them to try something again.

But the three cubs just stuck out their tongues at her in unison, then turned to look at Taka with respect in their eyes.

Now, the dark lion had of course seen the only other predators in the Pride Lands, of course, though never up close. Though the hyena leaders met with their King Ahadi now and again, Taka had never been invited to the meetings; though Mufasa had. And this was the first time that he'd ever seen cubs his age... cubs that seemed to actually accept him.

"Hey, dude..." said the female and apparent leader of the trio, "that was pretty cool of you."

"Yeah man... awesome," said one of the two males with a smile.

The other male just laughed crazily and nodded. Taka felt like asking if something was wrong with him; but then remembered the pain he always felt at being told that something was wrong with _him_.

"You fools," he muttered, "what did you do to her?" he said, jerking his head at the hawk.

The hyena cubs even chuckled at that, and despite himself, Taka felt a smile touch his lips.

"Nuthin' much... just tried ta bean her with a fruit as she was comin' at a mouse," the female answered, much to the snickers of both of her companions.

"Hey, do you think... I could play with you?" Taka asked.

"Well, I dunno..." answered the female, "what do you think, Banzai? Ed? He's a lion cub... gonna be a load stronger 'n' faster than us," she said, slightly jealous.

Ed jabbered for a few seconds, and nodding, the other male spoke up.

"Yeah... Banzai and me both agree. You're in, but we can't play against each other. It just ain't fair," the coherent hyena pup looked back at the hawk.

"Seems like she wants a round two," he suggested, hefting another pear in his paw; indeed, a loud TSEER was heard in the distance.

Shenzi snickered, and picked up two fruits, tossing one to Taka.

"Catch!" she playfully called, and all four tossed their projectiles at the avian, watching her squawk and flutter uselessly.

But that didn't last long. The mother hawk managed to regain her footing and race towards the cubs. Taka shot away fast, of course, but saw that his friends were in trouble of being speared by her sharp talons. So he paused, and when they and the raptor came towards him, he thrust a pawful of dirt into her face, blinding her and causing her to fall.

The hyenas ran on, laughing, and Taka joined them, trotting along at their pace. It was the start of a beautiful, rare relationship; ultimately, one doomed to utter failure.

* * *

Mufasa was worn out after a full day of training. He slumped into the den, collapsing instantly; not even the praise offered to him from all directions could stall his exhaustion.

The tan lion couldn't even play anymore, that's how much his father made him work. But Mufasa couldn't blame his father; he was only trying to make his son as good of a King as possible, when the time came.

His eyes narrowed when Taka practically waltzed into the den. The little punk... he had no obligations, no responsibilities, nothing. Taka didn't even have to hunt, and could play all day for all anyone cared. For the first time in his life, Mufasa felt... jealous. And the worst bit of it was that he couldn't do a damn thing about it.

The dark cub plunked down besides his brother. He too was sweating, though not quite as profusely as the future King.

"Hello, Muffy. How was your day?" Taka kindly asked.

"My day..."

With a growl, and right in front of everyone, the tan cub suddenly smashed his brother across the face, nearly knocking him out.

"Let me tell you how it is, you pathetic little bastard. I worked from dawn, learning everything, training,even fighting with Father. See," he said with a harsh laugh, "being King's not all good. You've got to work _hard_... but I guess you wouldn't know a thing about that, would you?" Mufasa spat onto Taka's cowering form, earning an approving nod from his father.

"_I don't think I've ever asserted my dominance over him in front of everyone... and Father says that the best Kings rule their lands through intimidation. If I can utterly crush the spirit of Taka, who might one day challenge me... then that will show everyone that _I_ am always the dominant one; the strongest, the greatest, the wisest King ever."_

With a roar, the tan cub placed his heavy paws onto Taka's back and forced him into the ground, batting him around in a less-than-brotherly manner. The rest of the Pride just nodded, some with unconcealed smirks on their faces at Taka's obvious humiliation. The blows didn't even let up when he yelped in pain, only when Mufasa was too physically exhausted to continue.

"_He's still my brother. And he will... make a great King,"_ the dark lion thought, forcing himself not to cry, even as his entire body was consumed in fiery agony, _"and I'm still his bodyguard."_

* * *

(WARNING: here is an EXTEMELY,_ EXTREMELY, __**EXTREMLY**_ disturbing description of brutal, sadistic torture and violence. Don't read it if you don't think you can handle it.)

Jinga grinned.

He might not be the smartest tigon ever... but he knew how to have fun, and raise the spirits of his brother and sister. Even since the death of Ziwi, they'd been rather depressed. So had he, but he didn't show it much.

"_Ziwi wouldn't want me to be sad for him,"_ he thought, and kept what little capacity his mind had on remembering only the good times he'd shared with his brother.

The cub was now playing hide and seek with Chukizo and Dhaifu. It had taken him quite some time to understand how to play the game properly. He'd spent weeks and weeks watching the other cubs as well as his three siblings play, then practicing, and now for the first time _he_ was the seeker.

But the li-tigon cub wasn't having much luck. He'd strayed far from where his siblings had hidden, distracted by a butterfly. By the time he realized this, he was far off track and knew that it would take him longer still to find one of his two playmates.

But Jinga didn't care. He was playing with his siblings; it didn't matter if he won or lost. The feeling of being wanted and involved was enough for him...

Suddenly, a great blow struck him from the side, and the cub felt himself blacking out as something picked him up by the scruff of the neck and carried him far to the south, to the very fringes of the strange forest that all Desert dwellers avoided.

A long time later, Jinga slowly blinked, clearing his eyes as he stood up. Instantly, he was terrified. He was in some terrible swamp, and all around him wer the sounds of strange creatures. But what scared him the most was the lioness that sat right in front of him.

The tigon had often been told by his siblings to stay away from her; that she was dangerous. And the cub had seen this particular lioness hurt all of them, especially Chukizo more than once. So he slowly tried to back away from her, turning around and hastily trotting away.

But a terrible swipe of sharp claws ran down the full length of his back, making him freeze and then drop in agony. There wasn't any nerve damage, but the fiery wounds on his back rendering Jinga nearly incapable of moving nonetheless.

Jinga hardly had time to yelp in pain, before two muscled arms wrapped around his neck, choking him. The tigon gasped for breath, pulling, then clawing at the vice around him, but did him no good at all.

He was nearly dead before he was dropped to the ground. Gulping down air greedily, he stumbled to his feet and looked at the lioness in fear.

"Please... don't hurt me," he begged, still panting for breath.

But Samehe just growled, and launched herself at her son again. The cub didn't have any time to dodge before she grabbed him bodily, and thrust him into the disgusting bog.

Jinga struggled but did nothing but inhale water. He choked in the greenish slime, creating one Helluva fuss, but doing nothing to release him. In fact, his struggles only attracted the attention of three or four small crocodiles. Instinctively, the cub fought harder than ever...

Out of Samehe's own desires, he was raised from the bog. The lioness punched him in the gut with her paw, bringing some of the water out of him. But it wasn't to help him, oh no... she only wanted to prolong his suffering.

The lioness battered away at her son's stomach, only egged on by his pathetic whimpers and pleas. It wasn't long at all before most of his vital organs were practically liquefied, his ribs broken. But incredibly, the tigon wasn't dead.

"Heh... look at you, you freak. You can't run, can't hide, can't fight back... you can only take your punishment like the abomination you are, you little bastard," Samehe spat onto Jinga, then reached down and bit his fur, ripping half his skin off of his body, exposing his flesh to the elements.

The ripping sound wasn't heard over Jinga's shriek of agony, as his own own organs began to spill out of him, unable to even hold their own shape.

"Wow, that's the first time that I've ever seen flies lay eggs into a still-living animal," the lioness said with some kind of sadistic wonder.

Jinga looked down, and with a disgusted cry of terror saw that indeed flies were already starting to eat into and lay their eggs into his exposed abdomen.

"Please..." he begged, not quite comprehending that Samehe would never help him.

"Shut up," the lioness growled, striking him in the face, claws extended; so that she not only tore half the fur off of his head but she also speared one eyeball, savagely ripping it out of its socket then allowing it to bounce away along the swamp floor.

Jinga screamed, but knew that it would do him no good. Pathetically, one paw covering his empty socket, he rolled over and tried to crawl away. But he had not the strength to do it, and in fact the rest of his organs, now nothing more than fly-infested gore slid out of him, landing on the ground with a sickening _splotch_.

But the pain only intensified. The tigon felt something break free, and after a second, his body registered mind-numbing waves of pain rolling up from his left hind leg... or lack thereof.

Samehe had ripped it off in her jaws, twisting it o the side so it dislocated, then tore it away, ripping apart tendons, muscles, nerves. The lioness threw the disembodied limb to the crocodiles, laughing as Jinga sobbed, both watching it get broken apart and swallowed down, even as the reptilians looked on, hungry for more.

The lioness reached up through the cub's now abdominal cavity, grunting at his weak struggles, feeling around in his chest... then she pulled out his heart, lungs, and other remaining vitals, killing Jinga in the most painful, humiliating manner possible. The cub's eyes remained open, his face twisted into an expression of unspeakable pain, his organs and most of his skin missing, flies already rotting his body.

Samehe then reached down, cutting off Jinga's genitals with her claws, then shoving them into his open mouth. After that, the lioness walked over him, and began to defecate onto his lifeless form, nothing but rage etched across her harsh features.

"Fucking freak," she grunted, as a particularly large glob of feces landed on the cub's face.

(Sorry, guys. But life is cruel, just like Samehe)

* * *

The lioness grinned terribly. Dhaifu was dying, and no matter how hard Chukizo tried to comfort him, it did him no good. Milk did not fill his belly anymore, and he could not eat meat. Though Chukizo had managed to keep her sickly brother alive for a few days by chewing up meat and dropping it down his throat...

But almost intentionally, the pride had had to hunt farther and farther from the den. Dhaifu was too sickly to travel, and Chukizo couldn't carry much meat with her. His death was totally unavoidable, and the only being in the world that gave a damn was his sister.

She was crying and hugging him, begging him to not leave her alone. Samehe could understand that; the lioness at least had a pride that cared for her, Chukizo would well and truly be alone when her freak of a brother left the world.

But there was nothing anyone could do at this stage. Dhaifu breathed his last, stomach not growling in exactly the same manner his father had died, though his last actions were slightly more benevolent.

"Chukizo," he said, giving a sad, small smile to his sister, the compassionate, loving, caring friend that had stayed with him throughout his entire life, his entire sickness, "find love."

Dhaifu coughed once, his tongue flopping out of his mouth, then slowly faded away; life snuffed out just as slowly and horribly as his father before him. Samehe noticed this, and walked over to viciously slap his dead form across the ground. But Chukizo stepped in front of her paw, taking the blow for her brother, sliding across the den floor.

"Well look at that," the lioness said hatefully, "freaks always look out for one another," she sneered, then slammed her paw onto Dhaifu with enough force to crack his chest.

* * *

Freak was alone, patrolling the southwestern edge of the Pride Lands. Since his arrival, he'd insisted upon doing his fair share of work. Now with three males in the pride, Simba, himself, and Kovu, they could each cover one sector of the land quite efficiently, and no one had ever felt safer.

But the li-tigon knew, better than anyone, that peace could never last. In fact, in his opinion peace was only the signal of a brief intermission between hardship, and he felt that the Pride Lands were long overdue for violence.

Suddenly, he froze. He could smell contacts coming from the Outlands... but he couldn't be sure. They were even better than Usiku at hiding their presence, and only a sudden, almost miraculous shift in the wind had alerted Freak to them.

But they were about twenty hyenas, give or take a couple. Freak growled, but knew better than try to engage them. He back off to the northeast, seeing that Kovu was coming to tell him that patrolling was done. The dark lion had been a little more... civil... towards Freak, but the li-tigon for some reason felt that it was a front.

Incredibly, a hyena sprang out of the grass right at him, and Freak had barely a heartbeat to dodge out of the way.

"Kovu!" he called, as the rest near-dozen closed in on him, surrounding him from all directions, growling, "Brother... help me!" he said, as Maumbu attacked.

These Bloody Shadow assassins were tough customers; not at all like the starving Shadow Landers that Freak had massacred. They didn't go down with a single blow or claw, and fought in a manner that the li-tigon wasn't used to. Without back-up... he would almost certainly die.

But the lion only laughed cruelly, and ran off. Freak's expression didn't change... but it was one more affront against his soul, as well as the intrinsic grain in him that told him that others could be trusted.

"_Everyone is a threat,"_ the li-tigon thought, fighting off the yet undefeated force alone.

* * *

Kovu sneaked away from the scene, smiling darkly to himself as he went. Hardly hesitating to abandon Freak to his death, the lion stalked away. But he was both confused and worried to see that the Pride Land hyenas... were heading right towards the fray.

"_If they get involved... things could get complicated,"_ he thought.

Suddenly, the implications of his failure to help Freak and the possibility of him actually surviving with the aid of the other Pride Landers hit him. Panicking, Kovu ran, staying unnoticed by everyone but Freak... and one other.

* * *

"Hey, man, you smell somethin'?" asked Banzai, speaking to Ed.

The psychotic hyena sniffed, then nodded. He looked to Shenzi and T, and the two females smelled he air as well.

"Yeah," said Shenzi, looking strangely at T, "smells like hyenas, kind of."

T looked confused at the scent.

"They don't smell like my clan. They smell sort of like the way... Usiku did," she said, and all four of the former Outlanders looked at the black hyena.

He growled, then spoke.

"Uvuli's in the den... these, my friends, are assassins of the Bloody Shadows. I do not know who they are, precisely... but they cannot be allowed to enter our lands unchallenged," over the course of the few weeks he'd been in the Pride Lands, Usiku felt a sense of camaraderie, even belonging amongst both the lions and the hyenas.

He'd even stopped hating Freak. They say, after all, that a father cannot hate a being that is kind to his daughter unconditionally...

* * *

Freak was up with the sun.

He didn't normally wake up at dawn; after all, the high mountains that surrounded the valley in which the Jungle was located did not offer a view of the rising sun. But here in the Pride Lands, he'd recently taken to watching the slow peek of the sun over the horizon; its powerful beams warming and lighting up the plains, bringing life to the Pride Lands, chasing away the darkness of the night.

He heard a growl behind him, and turned instantly. But it was only Uvuli.

"_Not a threat, incapable of harming me,"_ he thought, then turned away, unaware that he was being watched by Usiku.

"_Go ahead and do it, you freak. Hurt my daughter, so that I can give you the death that you deserve..."_

But the li-tigon didn't react as the baby hyena playfully bumped into his leg. He glanced at her, confused, but that's about it.

Smiling as she picked herself up, Uvuli growled playfully and gripped Freak's leg in her teeth.

At that, the li-tigon twitched; apparently, her teeth and jaws weren't quite as useless as they looked. But still, he didn't nothing.

"Come on, play with me," Uvuli said.

Usiku blinked at that. His daughter normally only spoke to him in private, and even then, it wasn't much.

The li-tigon looked at her, then spoke.

"...What do I do?" he asked naively.

"Well, it's like fighting. But don't hurt me, and I won't hurt you. It's fun... try it," she said, smiling, backing up, then pouncing at Freak.

The li-tigon moved out of the way, but not nearly as fast as he could have. But instead of allowing Uvuli to crash to the rocky ground, he caught her in his paws and gently tossed her into the air, even as she pressed her attack. Usiku turned away, frustrated, but then looked back in absolute confusion at the expression he was seeing on Freak's face.

A smile.

* * *

Freak was losing. Not badly, but losing anyway. He hadn't been able to take down any of the hyenas, and though he hadn't taken any serious hits yet, the li-tigon knew it wouldn't be long.

Suddenly, there was an another group of growls and yips, and Freak cursed, thinking that his assailants were bringing back-up. But the assassins suddenly jumped and some of them turned to confront the five grown hyenas, one of them a former assassin himself.

"You!" a male Umbu said, glaring at the black hyena.

"Traitor..." another growled, closing in as one half of Maumbu kept the pressure on Freak.

"To deny that bastard... the one who overthrew his own father, under the tutelage of my own... to come home after a long, hard mission to find that my mate was killed at his paws, and then to run so that my daughter could live, if just a little longer," Usiku had still kept some of his cool, even in his rage, "and you, the ones that do the bidding of Saliti, you dare call ME the traitor?!" he launched himself at Maumbu, with the four other Pride Land hyenas.

The two waves of flesh colliding in a cacophony of barking, growling; the occasional yip and the horrible sound of fur and meat tainting the lands with blood for ever.

* * *

Sarafina had led a strange life.

Up until the rise of Scar, she'd managed to maintain friendships with both Zira and Sarabi; seemingly two opposite ends of the spectrum. But after the dark lion had made it clear that his regime was one of terror and hardship, she'd stuck with the loyalists.

But every now and then, Sarabi would feel some small voice nagging at her; telling her to not trust her best friend. And it did make sense, sort of. Zira could be seen berating Sarafina more than the others; though they always seemed to be alone when that happened. And a few strange incidents; nothing big, but all in one way or another involving Sarafina had left more than a shadow of suspicion in Sarabi's mind.

The tan lioness was now returning to Pride Rock. She'd seen Kovu ignore Freak's cry for help, and also the Pride Land hyenas attack the li-tigon. She cared not for Freak, but the sleeping giant was now filled with a terrible resolve. Her time had come at last.

"_Kovu will probably think of some way to keep Simba away from the fight. He might say there's another invasion, and that Freak's already trying to repel one front and is doing fine."_

She grinned.

"_And that damned shaman, Rafiki, he's out of the picture. If I can somehow nudge the situation so that Simba gets isolated, maybe with Kovu or that daughter of mine... it will be child's play to kill him. I don't have that many years left in me... it's now or never."_

And so the aging lioness, nearly as old as Msarfiri, Sarabi; around the same age as Samehe set off towards Pride Rock at a pace that would have impressed any runner, though she remained hidden enough to approach in silence...

* * *

The old mandrill sighed, as he began the journey home from the Jungle. Apparently, a monkey a bit like him, Mganga had chosen to forget the way of compassion that Rafiki had taught him, and dedicated the past years of his life only to revenge... revenge on a predator that had only done as nature dictated. But then, suddenly, the monkey had vanished without a trace.

"_De way dat I live... it is truly a miracle. One would tink dat in de place dat I grew up, I would become like de monstahs dat always surrounded me. It was incredible day even wit de aid of my Muddah and Faddah dat I was able to escape... as far as I know, dat land, de mountain wit terrible forest all around it still has no healer or shaman."_

Rafiki sighed, then chuckled before returning to his thoughts. He was moving into the Outlands now, and would be back home perhaps by the end of the night.

"_Journeying tru de Lowah Plains, den cutting tru de Desaht, den going to de East past de Jungle to de Nort and de mountain ranges... __only to reach de __Falme Kindakindaki, a land not much bettah dan de land of my birt... at least dere, my skills were used. They kept me safe, but I was never welcomed. My heart, it told me to go to de Nort. I wonder what would have happened to me if I did not see Guedado and Kimitri dat day..."_

But the mandrill shook his head, and chuckled again.

"Who would have taut dat old Rafiki of de Bloody Shadows would evah be a proud membah of de Pride Lands?"

* * *

"Simba!" said Kovu, with unembellished gasps, "there's an attack. From the Outlands!"

"What?!" the lead male growled, racing off towards the South, lionesses perking up.

"No!" the dark lion said suddenly, and Simba turned.

"Freak and the hyenas there. They're taking care of them," he said with a grin that Kiara could swear was fake, "but there's another one... it's a two-pronged invasion, Freak said when he sent me here. He said they're coming from... the Shadow Lands! That's it! They have to be stopped! Come on!"

Sarafina slunk into the area unnoticed, sneering at Kovu's poor acting. She called upon her finely-honed skills, and gasped for breath, panting as she felt all eyes on her.

"Sarabi," she said, gulping in air as she looked to her friend, "I was going to check the wildebeest to the Northwest. There were hyenas, so many of them that they covered the hills like attacking ants cover a nest. I got away unnoticed, but they're coming, Sarabi! Simba, Nala, Kiara... we have to do something," she said.

Now the alpha male was lost. Kovu's strange mannerisms seemed... fake, somehow, but Simba couldn't imagine why his son-in-law would act that way. And though Nala had forced him to cease his investigations into her mother, Simba had always had at least one set of eyes on her until recently. They'd always come back to tell him that her stories checked out... but for some reason, the tan lion always felt that she was just biding her time. However... all this time had passed without incident.

"_It really is time to forgive and forget,"_ he thought, then roared, calling the attention of all the fighters of the Pride Lands.

Several minutes later, a gaggle of cheetahs, a family of predatory birds, a band of rock-wielding monkeys and of course every singe lioness in the Pride had gathered. Simba smiled at the other cats; they lived a life separate from the lions, but for the past years, they'd always been upstanding citizens of the Pride Lands... and loyal warriors.

"Warriors of the Pride Lands... our lands are threatened by a hostile force to the North West. They are hyenas... not our brothers and sisters formerly of the Outlands; but a destructive clan bent solely on the domination of our lands," the tan lion said.

Simba was fabricating half of it, but from the size and descriptions of the force given to him he did not think it was unwarranted. And from the agreeing roars from the lions, the jeering hisses of the cheetahs, the shrieks of the hawks, and the angry calls of the monkeys... the tan lion felt rather secure about his public speaking skills.

"We've fought off stronger forces together, friends... let's move!" he called, and in a rush, led the charging force towards the Outlands.

Msafiri, Kovu, and Sarafina all had to try to hide their feelings. One was hiding a malicious sneer. One was hiding guilt. And the other was only trying to not let her bloodthirsty desires overtake her.

* * *

A long time later, the Pride Landers collected at a rendezvous point. They'd scoured the Northwest part of their territory endlessly... but no one had found hide or hair of any attacks. No one even smelled anything unfamiliar. Worst of all, Msafiri was missing.

"Maybe she's been captured. This could have been a diversion," Nala offered, and some seemed to agree.

Simba didn't know what to think. If it was a diversion... they'd left Pride Rock totally unattended. And if the invaders took that, they could hold off the lions very easily. But that didn't explain Msafiri's absence...

"What should we do, Sire?" somebody asked.

But the Lion King had no answers.

* * *

Msafiri was moving towards the Outlands as fast as her aging body could go. She was extremely old... it was a wonder that she'd survived the weeks between the arrival of Freak and the arrival of his assassins. But the Asiatic lioness had kept herself going out of pure spite, determined to see the li-tigon die a painful, terrible death.

Finally, she heard the decrescendo yelps and cries of an ending battle. Msafiri could contain her joy no longer, and shouted out loud.

"Wait! I want to see the Freak bleed!" she called, bounding over one last hill.

But the li-tigon was nowhere to be seen. There were only the corpses of about twenty charcoal grey hyenas, some cleanly killed, some horribly mangled. Off to the side were the half-conscious but probably alive Pride Land hyenas. So poor was their condition that the lioness's calls didn't register. Usiku seemed to perk up for a second, but fell to the ground, unconscious. Th rest of the Pride Land hyenas soon followed suit.

"_No... how could he have esca—"_

The Asiatic heard nothing. She had no warning. The first thing that she noticed was that she had somehow teleported twenty feet. Then, the pain in her side registered, and she shrieked in agony, trying to curl up but stopping; the pain of having all of her ribs broken at once was too great.

She heard a growl, and managed to tilt her head, and her blurring vision told her that Freak was approaching her, as emotionless as he always was.

"I should have killed you that day," the li-tigon said, opening his jaws, and moving to grab the Asiatic around the neck, intending to kill her instantly; despite her non-prey status.

"_She's a threat, and she'll die anyway. Leaving her here... is both cruel and dangerous."_

Msafiri coughed, spitting blood onto Freak's face. He growled at that, and was about to snap her neck when she spoke.

"Hey... freak... do you know... that your grandmother may still be alive?" the li-tigon paused at that; curious at the possibility of having more family.

"She lives... in the Desert, to the South of the Jungle," Msafiri gasped, nearly expiring then and there.

"Samehe... was my friend. I left her... to leave the pain that your mother... the abomination... Chukizo... caused me by killing my son," she said, tears starting to flow down her cheeks.

"_Save it,"_ Freak thought, but said nothing.

"And do you know how your grandmother gave birth to Chukizo? No, I suppose you don't. Well... your grandfather, a _tiger_... raped her! Took her body for his own purposes when she was scarcely out of cubhood. How does it feel to know that such perverse blood runs in your veins, FREAK?!"

"_Grandmother's blood also runs in my veins. As does Mother's, and Father's."_

"I always wanted to see her again, one last time," said Msafiri, coughing once in the grip of the other cat's teeth, "but... fate has not allowed for me to do so. If you ever get the chance, Freak... go to the Desert... I'm sure that old Granny Samehe will have more than one thing to say to you!"

With one last laugh, the Asiatic collapsed, dead. Her eyes were halfway open, but the li-tigon couldn't bring himself to close them. He gave a sad glance to the hyenas that had nearly, or had indeed died to protect him. They were well beyond his care.. but maybe, just maybe, Simba could do something for them.

He saw one male's chest heave. Banzai's... that poor being had taken a terrible, terrible slash to the gut that had exposed his organs. And that wasn't all... Maumbu had pressed its advantage, chewing into the male's stomach even as he screamed in agony. It was only due to Ed's speedy action, action that had given him a terrible cut across the shoulder that had saved him... for the moment. Usiku was worse than Shenzi or T, but for all Freak could tell... they might all have been dying in front of his eyes.

With an unfamiliar jolt of panic, the li-tigon set off, he knew not in what direction. The only thing that was on his mind was the possibility of saving... his friends.

* * *

"Dammit... I don't... let's stay here. They might be delaying," Simba offered, unsure of what else to say.

Kovu nodded at that readily, almost too readily. Kiara looked at him oddly, as did Simba, but the latter was distracted when his wife nuzzled him.

"Don't worry..." Nala said, "I'm sure Msafiri's okay."

"It's not just Msafiri I'm worried about," the Lion King said, thinking of his cousin, "and we've also missed the hyenas..."

The dark lion seemed to be on the verge of saying something to his mate, who was talking to him as if she knew something was up. But suddenly, in a blur, he was removed from her side, held to the ground by Freak.

"Cousin!" said Simba, hardly registering what the li-tigon seemed on the verge of doing to his son-in-law, "you survived the invasion," the Lion King finished, registering that Freak's arms were holding the dark lion's head, nearly breaking his neck or strangling him, take your pick.

"I did. No thanks to this bastard," he said, his normal monotone taking on an ominous edge.

"He saw that I was being attacked. And he did nothing. Except for laughing. He did that, and then ran. I don't know what lies he's been feeding you... but those hyenas were here to kill me, and only me. At the request of Msafiri," he guessed, almost sure due to the lioness's actions at the battle scene.

There was a collective gasp. Everyone was paying undivided attention to Freak... and Sarafina saw her first, last, and only chance.

Nala saw a flicker of movement behind her and turned, barely having time to utter, "Mother?" before she realized that the old lioness's claws were headed straight for the Lion King's neck.

There was a roar, and several things happened all at once. A crack was heard, and the next time anyone saw Kovu they could swear he was dead from a broken neck. Simba stumbled forward, roaring in pain, bleeding from the back. Freak had somehow managed to move nearly twenty feet in the blink of an eye, viciously striking Sarafina's face with his powerful paw... and sharp claw.

The old lioness was strong, that much was certain. Freak had not meant to kill her; he'd not used near his full strength. But the speed at which he'd moved combined with the mass of his paw left no possible outcome but Sarafina's broken skull...

Nala and Kiara both ran to the dead lioness's side, crying, though neither did a thing to Freak. The li-tigon sat there, an expression very much like shock on his face, terrified at what he'd done by accident.

"_Am I... bad? Death follows me everywhere. Even when I try to avoid it. Maybe I am more than a freak. Maybe I am... an abomination."_

_Everything was a blur around him for the next few minutes. The lions checking Sarafina's body, crying over it. Then Kovu's body, realizing that he was only temporarily paralyzed. All the time, the li-tigon felt something... something in him... it felt like the passing down of something to him from an ancestor._

_Father... father was speaking to him. Friends... friends in danger. Loyal friends. In danger..._

"The hyenas."

Somehow, he'd spoken out loud. The words came from his lips, but sounded like they'd been spoken by a stranger.

"_The hyenas?"_

Freak's eyes widened, and he suddenly spoke with a sense of urgency in his voice.

"They're injured! Usiku and Banzai... I think they might be dead."

"Dad's... dead?" said a small voice from behind the lions.

The baby hyena crept up, quivering. No one had really heard her speak before, except Freak, Usiku, and occasionally the other hyenas.

"Uvuli, I thought I told you to stay in Pride Rock," said Kiara with a disapproving stare.

But the hyena just shrugged.

"Dad always said that he might be killed one day, for leaving the Bloody Shadows. But I never thought that it might be today. It always felt like something that could happen tomorrow..."

Her eyes suddenly welled up with tears.

"Freak, is he really dead?"

The li-tigon had no feelings to speak of. Not of his own, anyway. But through living such a harsh, brutal, and utterly cold and solitary life, if there was one thing Freak was it was sympathetic. He walked over to Uvuli, and held her up by the scruff of the neck, rather like he was the day so long ago that he took her hostage.

"Not yet he's not," Freak managed to grunt, setting off to the South.

With hardly a heartbeat of hesitation, everyone else followed. The only ones that were left behind were Sarafina, who was dead and already forgotten, and Kovu, who was still living but in the process of being forgotten.

"Wait..." the dark lion said, raising a paw before he collapsed into nightmare-ridden unconsciousness.

* * *

"Well, what do we have here?" said the mandrill shaman out loud, concern audible in his voice.

He smelled blood, and lots of it. Something terrible had happened, not too far to the north.

"Old Rafiki can still help dem, if dey are still alive dat is..." he said under his breath, running for the hyenas as fast as he could.

The mandrill reached the blood bath, hardly pausing as he did. In his early days in the Bloody Shadows, he'd seen far, far worse. Now, Rafiki did not know that the Shadow Land hyenas were welcomed back into the Pride Lands during his absence. Nor did he even know who Usiku was, though he looked mighty familiar, like a face the primate had all but forgotten...

But Rafiki just treated them as best he could, selflessly, as Mganga had to the same group minus one so long ago. The far more experienced and talented shaman (life in the Falme Kindakindaki was not without strife and much of it, after all) got them all to stable conditions. Barely.

T, Shenzi, and Ed... he wasn't so worried about them. He couldn't use some of his more effective herbs being that they'd been laying around for so long until he reached them, but even so, Rafiki was fairly certain that they'd soon make full recoveries.

Usiku was bad, though. The black hyena... who did he look like?

"He is de spitting image of Lord Kivuli of de Bloody Shadows," Rafiki said out loud in wonder.

The mandrill had forgiven the horrible living demon that had killed his parents and eaten them in front of him... or at least he thought he had. But seeing what looked like practically the same being, that brought up hate and fear that one can only get from nearly a lifetime of constantly lamenting the loss of ones guardians and protectors... one's parents.

But Rafiki too a deep breath, and allowed the mercy and pity of the heavens to flow through him, purifying his mind and soul. For a second, he could swear he felt a presence or several of them; though they did not seem to be searching for him...

He continued his work, patching up the terrible wounds all over the black hyena's back, before looking at Banzai gravely.

The mandrill was tempted to mercy-kill the poor hyena right there. Though Ed seemed to have gone through more than a little trouble to save his practical brother, that didn't really change things. His gut was wide open, and infection was already setting in. But that wasn't the worst of it. Some of his internals were missing, and frantically, Rafiki was able to find bits and pieces of them, getting them together, molding them into near-whole, nearly working shadows of what they once were.

But barely, incredibly... even Banzai might live. But... it would not be a nice existence. He would likely be unable to move far or fast. Ever. He would have trouble digesting food and might well die of starvation inevitably. The only thing that could help him now... was the divine.

"_Dey say dat de Great Kings of de Past look down on us always. But I wonder if poor Banzai here, being a much-hated enemy of de Pride Lands for so long... Mufasa, my old friend... I do not know if you can forgive him. Even from heaven."_

* * *

"They're not far," Freak called, from far ahead of the lions.

"How... can... that... boy... run... so... fast... after... fighting... such... a... hard... battle..." panted Sarabi, though the old lioness was moving fast for both her age and for suddenly having to face the betrayal of her life-long friend.

"I... can't... answer... that... ...I'd... pop... a... lung..." Kiara managed to reply, earning a laugh from her mother and a smile from her grandmother.

"Daddy, daddy!" said Uvuli, as Freak let her down.

The li-tigon barely registered that a mandrill shaman, not unlike Mganga was tending to the hyenas. He merely wrote Rafiki off as a non-threat... though to be fair, some of the old primate's herbs, particularly those that he still kept from his days in the Bloody Shadows and the Falme Kindakindaki could be used in manners other than... medical ones.

"Rafiki, you're back," panted Simba, as he approached the mandrill and the fallen warriors.

"Will they... be okay?" someone asked.

But the shaman only shook his head sadly.

"Dese tree... dey should be okay in time. But dis dark one, and dis one... I cannot say if dey will evah totally heal. Or even survive."

The baby hyena cradled her father's head in her minuscule paws, crying softly. Freak stood next to Banzai with sadness and guilt on his face, almost. Everyone else... was just too shocked to speak.

After a while, T, Ed, and Shenzi came to. They limped to their feet, and gathered around the fallen males. Usiku was still breathing, barely. Banzai was also, but both hyenas were still somewhere between life and death.

Eventually, Kovu managed to drag himself to the group, fighting off his temporary paralysis. When he did get there, no one acknowledged him. Even when he sat next to Kiara and nuzzled her, smiling at her sadly, his mate left him to sit next to the li-tigon, who was every now and then making sure that Banzai was still breathing...

Suddenly, both male hyenas gasped for breath. Banzai tried to rise, but Freak gently held him down, shaking his head. Usiku knew better than that, and only moved his paws to hold his daughter as she cried in joy...

"So... dey will live. But dey will be unable to hunt or move much for very long time. I will need to tend to dem every day..." Rafiki said.

Banzai coughed once, and lapsed back into unconsciousness.

"Dat's alright," said Shenzi, looking at the injured males sadly, "It's better ta live injured for some time wit da hope of getting' better than ta not live at all."

T nodded once, and added, "They fought well enough to earn it... many times over."

Ed nodded vigorously, the sound of something shaking around in his skull was heard, bringing a brief, tired, but much needed chuckle to the face of more than one animal.

Freak turned away for a moment, looking to the south, back at the Jungle. Past the Jungle was the waterfall, then the Desert. To the northwest of there, the Lower Plains, and then to the north... the Bloody Shadows. Traveling directly through the southwestern edges of the Shadow Lands and Outlands, over the vast lake was out of the question... there was an island there, unreachable except for by non-sentient fliers, and that island was more of a mystery than the High Mountains to the north of the Pride Lands, the Wet Forest to the South of the Desert... or the Bloody Shadows themselves.

"_They fought and almost died... for me. They weren't even my family. Unlike him,"_ the li-tigon thought, balefully thinking of Kovu.

"_And even the hyenas... they killed Scar, my father, for only a moment of disloyalty brought about by absolute desperation. I can't be around them... any of them..."_

"Everyone is a threat," Freak said, standing up, gaining the attention of everyone present, "and I can no longer trust any of you."

The li-tigon started to walk off to the south, as the entire pride and the five conscious hyenas looked after him; only Rafiki kept his mind where it needed to be.

"Wait," said Kovu, and the li-tigon paused, glaring at the dark lion, "where are you going?"

"...Back to the Jungle. Then... to the Bloody Shadows. Saliti will not tolerate a failed mission..." Freak said, remembering what Usiku had told him about his previous home in the aftermath of the fight.

"They will never stop trying to kill me. So I have to kill them first. And I can't stop at the Assassin Lord. I will have to destroy each and every assassin that lifts a paw at me..."

The black hyena got to his feet, barely.

"I'm behind you, comrade. Saliti will find out about my existence... and that of Uvuli. He will attack us, as well... unless I strike first."

But the li-tigon shook his head at, strangely, the same assassin that had been ordered to kill him, and the only being that he could come remotely close to trusting in the group.

"You're almost dead... and if you come with me, you will be a liability; if you even survive the journey to the Jungle. You will have to stay here... your daughter needs you."

Usiku fell at that, feeling useless. But the black hyena knew the truth in Freak's words... and nodded.

"But we're goin' with you. Ain't no way we're gonna stay behind and let you go out there alone," said Shenzi, speaking for herself, T, and Ed.

Both other hyenas nodded, looking at the li-tigon in such away that he knew it would be useless to even try to refuse.

"..." Freak didn't respond verbally, he merely jerked his head for them to walk alongside him.

Several seconds later, he was stopped again by a word from Simba.

"Wait... we're coming to," the Lion King said, referring to his entire pride.

"The Pride Lands will be fine with the cheetahs defending it, at least for some time. And as long as this Saliti exists, he is a threat to all of us. If we leave the Pride Lands... he'll be the one waiting for an invasion, not us."

Freak again didn't respond, but gradually, seemed to accept the lions... though he didn't trust them, not for a second. They say that trust, once lost, was hard nigh impossible to regain. And the li-tigon had nearly died by placing trust into his "family", in particular, one lion...

"But what about me?" asked Kovu in a small voice.

"I'm not having him with me," said Freak with a growl that became an angry roar.

The tan lion glared at his son-in-law, making the dark lion want to crawl under a rock and hide. He'd had only a few happy months with his new family... and now, even they wouldn't accept him.

"No... and Usiku and Banzai can't hunt, not for quite some time. Kovu," Simba ordered, "you are going to stay here. Rafiki will help you get back onto the right path, from which you have strayed. Apparently, the darkness left on your heart by Zira has not left yet. I have hope for you, son, but you are not coming with us. Not until Banzai and Usiku have healed."

"_But that could be months!"_

Kovu knew better than to argue, so tearfully, he bowed his head, and spoke, looking at the ground.

"Yes... my King," he said sadly, and for once, Simba didn't remind him that he preferred to be addressed by his name.

"_Father trusted the hyenas... and they killed him because he betrayed them. If I don't betray these three, they will help me. But my family... I don't even know what they did to Father to make him hate them so much,"_ Freak thought, walking off to the south.

"Simba," he said gruffly, "you may be the King of the Pride Lands. And I respect that. But the moment we leave your territory... I am the leader of this... mission," he stated.

The Pride Landers gasped, waiting to see how their King would take this sudden usurp of power. But Simba knew that Freak was both a better fighter... and better in the Jungle, and whatever strange environment the Bloody Shadows were.

The tan lion nodded, and spoke.

"Acceptable. But being a leader... is not all easy. Our future is in your paws, cousin... we don't know what awaits us, and you'll have to prepare us for everything."

The li-tigon continued to walk on, thinking. He'd trained for more than one battle in the Jungle, and with other lions, opportunities to increase any kind of imaginable skill were practically limitless. The presence of hyenas in the force allowed the possibility of spying and surveillance... Freak could do this.

"... I shall, Simba... I shall. And when we do strike back... the Shadows will shed blood."

* * *

(Five reviews, two new faces. al-Mujahid out.) 


	8. Counterassassins 1: Intermediate Goals

The Lion King: The Freak  
Chapter 8: Counterassassins I: Intermediate Goals

* * *

(This chapter, I will be keeping backstory to a minimum.)

Kovu watched his family, his entire universe leave for over an hour. He state there, motionless, tears spilling down from his eyes, tainting his dark fur blacker.

Simba was right. The darkness imprinted upon his heart by a hard life with his mother; the calculating, cruel, kill-or-don't-profit mindset had not completely left him. Maybe one day, it would. Or maybe it never would.

"Young one," said Rafiki, standing next to the dark lion, "I have seen many tings in my life. But nevah once did Old Rafiki tink dat a lion brought up in de Outlands, much less a son of Zira could have any light in his heart."

"But you do. And though you may still have de residue of your mother's darkness upon your soul... dere is much hope fah you. Come," the mandrill said, clapping Kovu on the shoulder, "help me wit poor Banzai."

The dark lion closed his eyes for a moment, contemplating. Rafiki... the wise shaman who had done nothing but good for his entire life... if anyone could repair Kovu's blackened heart, it was him.

"What do you need me to do?" he asked the mandrill.

Rafiki just grinned.

"Many, many tings you will need to do to tread upon de good path of life again. But for now... make sure dat dis hyena's belly does not split open..."

As the shaman spoke, one of the stitches in Banzai's fur broke. Then another. And then, all at once... his entire abdomen ripped open, his entrails barely retaining their integrity, but exposing his guts to the environment.

"Oh, dear," sighed Rafiki, moving fast, but not as fast as Kovu to work on fixing the artificial bonds.

* * *

Nightfall.

The counterassassins had reached the far edges of the Outlands. Almost everyone was exhausted, both physically and mentally. Nala had been crying almost the entire way, about the sudden, unforeseen betrayal of her mother. But at least she had Simba's shoulder to cry on.

The young lioness sniffed back a tear, lamenting her mate's malicious actions alone. But then she gave in, and she wept silently, feeling as if half her heart was missing. She was walking several yards to the left of the group, and everyone knew that her pain was her own... and she had to deal with it alone. Everyone but one.

"You'll need to be emotionally stable to survive outside of the Pride Lands," said the li-tigon, moving up next to her, but not so much as glancing at her.

Kiara sniffled.

"I know... but... Kovu... he's not here with me."

"You wouldn't understand," she said flatly, "when you love someone, and then love you back, when they're not with you... it's terrible."

"He may not be with you now. But he will be, some day."

"_When I'm far, far away from both you and him."_

"You're right—I don't understand. After all... my mother, I think that she loved me. But I didn't learn that I should love her back until long after she was dead. I don't know how I'd feel if I could have some sort of... mutual love. But that will never happen," Freak stated, as emotionless as always.

Kiara gasped. Ever since she was born he'd been loved, every second of every day. And even though her father was a bit too controlling at times, she was still loved, and she always, always loved back.

"You don't know that!" she said, loud enough to turn heads; heads which quickly turned forwards again.

"You haven't met many others... there must be _some_one out there for you."

But the li-tigon simply shook his head.

"There isn't. I am, after all, a freak. Don't ever forget that. ...One day," he conceded, "I _may_ find someone that I care about. Maybe. Probably not. But they'll never care for me back," he bared his teeth to Kiara, and she recognized his characteristic grin; an expression that was as hollow as his heart.

"Because... I'm a freak. And I don't know how to do anything... but survive."

"_But I can do that well."_

"We're stopping here for tonight," said the li-tigon, slumping over without any more ado at the side of a tree.

By now, there was only a few hundred meters of desert buffering the Jungle and the Outlands. The sand kept Jungle dwellers from entering the Outlands, except for Freak, of course. And from where he sat... the li-tigon could tell that something in the Jungle had changed from when he last saw it.

"_I'll have to be careful. But at least I have the others to help me. No... they'll be useless in the Jungle, all of them. I'll have to take care of myself _and_ them."_

"_Families, friends... they're troublesome. I'm best off alone."_

Ed, Shenzi and T had been walking next to each another, though in front of the lions and behind Freak for the majority of the day's journey. Together, they'd come to accept the possibility that Usiku and Banzai might both die, but had resigned themselves to the fact that Rafiki knew what he was doing, and Uvuli's love for her father would keep at least the black hyena alive.

The three former Shadow Landers saw that their leader, yes, their leader, ever since the group had left the Pride Lands, was resting by himself. As he'd always done. Though Freak may have slept in the den with the other lions during his stay in the Pride Lands, he was never closer than five yards to any lion or lioness. The hyenas slept in a different den, not quite as spacious, but every bit as comfortable and homely.

Ed grinned at Freak, passing him to position himself at the li-tigon's feet, in between him and the not so distant Jungle. Shenzi and T cuddled next to each another, near to Freak, who felt neither affection nor distaste for the two hyenas. He knew that it was for warmth, and nothing more. But that wasn't entirely true.

"_Yeah, it might be physic'ly warmer near Freak,"_ thought Shenzi, looking at her adoptive little sister once before closing her eyes.

"_But he needs another kind of warmth..."_

* * *

The night passed peacefully. Kiara, Nala, and Simba were huddled together at the foot of another tree, and clumps of lionesses were all over the Outlands for several dozen yards in any direction.

Throughout the course of the night, T, Shenzi, and Ed came to be holding each other and Freak, above, next to, and underneath him. But the li-tigon was in the exact same posture that he'd slumped to the ground in, and still felt nothing for any of the three hyenas. Moving carefully so as to not wake them, he slid out of their collective grasp and shook himself, licking his paws for a moment.

As he looked at the three practical siblings, the corners of his lips twitched for a second. And then he was gone, bounding northwards fast, but still making no noise that was audible to anyone present...

About an hour later, Simba woke up. Nala and Kiara's eyes flickered open as well, but the smile from the Lion King told them to have another few minutes. The two lionesses smiled back, Nala briefly nuzzling her mate's paw before joining her daughter in sleep.

The tan lion looked around for his cousin. He knew that Freak had slept in the company of the three hyenas next to a tree.. but when he walked over to that tree, all he saw was the hyenas... and a set of footprints heading back to the north and pointedly not returning.

"_No... he's gone. Why would he do such a thing?"_

Simba could think of no logical reason why the pragmatic li-tigon would want to leave them. Like Freak himself had said, Saliti was a threat. The Lion King growled loudly in dismay, wondering what he'd tell everyone...

"Be careful, Simba. You might wake them," said Freak.

Jerking his head over to his cousin who was approaching from the northeast, the tan lion could see that the li-tigon was dragging no less than five zebras to the area by the scruffs of their necks.

It made no sense at all. The Outlands were desolate, a harsh landscape, topped only by the Shadow Lands. Finding a lone zebra was a rare enough thing... but finding and successfully hunting five, and then dragging all of them back for presumably miles?

"How—" started Simba, before he was cut off by the li-tigon.

"I hurt this one," Freak said, tapping a mangled zebra with his paw, its flesh torn to shreds, "and it neighed for some time. These four others came after they decided that I wasn't there. But I was, and it was easy to kill them," he explained, licking a bloody paw clean.

"_Easy,"_ thought Simba, with a grin.

"Should we wake them up, now?" asked Freak, but the tan lion quirked an eyebrow at that.

"Cousin, _you_ are the leader of this voyage. The decision is yours to make."

"Perhaps," said the li-tigon, "but I see you as my second-in-command and will continue to do so... until you return to the Pride Lands."

"_...He said, you, not we. Could it be... does he intend to leave us?"_

Simba thought onto the short time his cousin had spent with the pride. He'd been utterly cold and self-serving at first, with only the tiniest glimmer of hope for his hollow soul. But now, though little had changed with the li-tigon's harsh demeanor... the tan lion was fairly sure that Freak cared about them, even though there was all evidence to the contrary.

"_I'll try to convince him... on this mission, that he is always welcome in the Pride Lands. He is family, after all... and even if he doesn't want a pride of his own, he can be part of ours."_

But externally, the Lion King only grinned slightly, and roared. Not as loudly as he might, but loud enough to wake everyone present up effectively.

No one groaned or complained. They all knew that such worthless actions had no place in such a dangerous mission, and that the only way anyone would live is if they placed full confidence in the abilities and decisions of their leaders.

"What's for breakfast?" Kiara and T said simultaneously, then snickered at each another.

The two beings were different in species and in age. But that didn't matter. They had spent some time with one another since the latter's repatriation, so to speak, into the Pride Lands, and each had found that the other was practically identical to herself.

"This," said Freak simply, tapping the five zebras, seeing the Pride Landers's eyes go wide.

The meal wasn't large enough to fill any stomach to capacity. But it would keep them strong and healthy, and capable of moving fast. And at this stage in the mission, nothing was more valuable than speed.

As he ate with his subordinates, the li-tigon pondered.

"_Usiku told me, once... he's the best assassin in jungle environments. The Bloody Shadows may be vaguely similar to the jungle that I know,but he told me that they're very, very different. I am stronger than when he tracked me... if we can get into the Jungle and lock it down from any attack, which I think we can... it will be the perfect training ground. If we're careful. There are parts of it, devoid of sentient animals. It might take weeks, months, or even a year. But one day... we will be ready to make the Shadows bleed."_

Freak waited until everyone was finished eating before walking towards the center of the group. He felt no stage fright, so to speak; because the li-tigon only saw speaking as a path to survival and nothing more. And if it meant that he would survive, there was nothing that he wouldn't do.

"The Jungle is different from the Pride Lands. One does not need to crouch in the grass to become invisible. There are many ways, so many ways, to render oneself invisible, unsmellable, and inaudible."

"But it's not all good."

"There are hazards... plants that if touched can make you sick or even paralyze you. Insects as long as your lower leg, with pincers poisonous enough to kill you if you so much as sniff their crushed components. Now, I will have it easier, because I was born in the Jungle, and quickly became indoctrinated against many of the poisons there. But you all may not be so lucky... I expect all of you to spend at least a week completely sick. None will die; I've learned some healing techniques from monkeys that I can use to keep you alive. But to become strong enough to throw off your body's weaknesses to disease or poison... is something you'll all have to do alone."

"Let's go," the li-tigon said, and without saying another word, walked into the short, sandy buffer, headed straight for the Jungle... and trouble, like always.

* * *

"Run away, Simba. ...Run. Run away, and never return."

The dark, raven-haired lion looked at the tan cub, forcing himself to be foreboding and ominous.

Simba only looked at his uncle, his father's lifeless body, and then scampered away.

Scar didn't need to look, listen or smell to know that his three most trusted supporters were closing in on him. Forcing himself to hold a stony, slightly satisfied but overall apathetic expression, he spoke two words.

"Kill him."

With a snarl the three hyenas dashed after the helpless cub. It was only after the dark lion heard the chase take itself far, far from his position that he allowed his face to sag into what his heart felt: utter hopelessness and guilt.

Pathetically, Scar walked over to Mufasa's body. But he didn't dare touch his big brother; even in death, the tan, muscular body evoked so much fear and respect out of him that the dark lion didn't dare harm it.

But doing the duty of both a younger brother and a devoted subject, Scar forgot his fear, and carefully, lovingly straightened the frayed whiskers of the great, freshly-deceased King. He shifted Mufasa's limbs so that the lion looked peaceful, at least, and carefully dusted his brother's clammy form free of dirt.

Then, the distant, pained, terrorized shriek of Simba unlocked everything that the dark lion had been hiding from everyone, including himself; short the too few times he was with Chukizo. Scar suddenly found himself crying, and his hot tears seared across his face, as if trying to punish him in their own small way for the act that he'd just done.

"_No... it's... for the best. It feel so, so, terribly wrong. But if it gives my mate a place to live at last, and offers my friends safety for the first time since the days of Father... if it brings the Pride Lands into a prosperous age after a few years of hardship... it's... worth it,"_ the dark lion thought, but nothing could prevent him from feeling the worst he'd ever felt in his life; a thousand times worse than the times his brother had beaten, humiliated, or abused him.

"_Why? It's... necessary,"_ the dark lion thought, but nothing could comfort him.

"_If it helps Chukizo, Banzai, Ed, and Shenzi... maybe it's worth it."_

Maybe not.

* * *

"Wow," gaped Nala, but a look from her mate quieted her instantly.

Truth be told, the Lion King was terrified. They'd taken perhaps five steps into the Jungle. But already, the thick trees felt like they were going to press in against him; denying him air and an escape, confining him within their clutches forever.

"It's okay, Daddy... you worry-wart," said Kiara nuzzling her father once, earning a strained grin.

"Shh," said Freak flatly, and instantly, the Pride went silent.

"Ed, Shenzi, T," the li-tigon said, and the hyenas bounded up to his side, remaining silent

"You three have some experience in the Jungle. I want you to travel together, and scout out the area around us for about half a mile. Come back as soon as you're done, and if you get into trouble, howl. I won't be far. Go."

With that, the three hyenas nodded, T perhaps smiling a bit at Freak's expressionless face before bounding off out of sight.

Remaining silent and motionless, adding that much more uncertainty to the already anxious Pride Land lions, the li-tigon was keeping track of the three hyenas through smell and sound alone. After five minutes when they changed direction to scope out another part of the Jungle, he nodded confidently.

"_I have been getting stronger."_

"Okay," he said, suddenly turning, and causing a few lionesses to jump, "I think this part of the Jungle's secure. For now. So there are a few things you need to know..."

Half an hour later, the hyenas returned to see that the Pride was paying undivided attention to Freak's every word. The three hadn't missed much that they didn't already know, mostly the li-tigon was explaining basic concealment and survival techniques, as well as what plants and insects to avoid.

"The best way to hide yourself in the Jungle... is to become one with the environment. Allow your heart to pulse alongside every other animal's, your breathing to be one with nature. At that stage, you are no different from the nearest tree, or leaf, or plant..."

Demonstrating, the li-tigon stepped into a nearby bush. He crouched, and right before the lions's and hyenas's eyes, vanished. Ed whimpered, and jabbered something. But Banzai wasn't around to translate... Shenzi merely cuffed him on the shoulder, telling him to calm down, which the psychotic hyena shortly did.

"It's not easy," said Freak, emerging from behind the group, much to their surprise, "but with practice, it can be done. For instance... Vitani, you try," the li-tigon said.

He knew that the ex-Outlander, Zira's former lieutenant must have truly amazing concealment skills; backing that up was the fact that when he'd spied on the events between the Outlanders and the Pride Landers, she was always the hardest one to find. If anyone could replicate what Freak had just done, it was her. Even so, the li-tigon's hopes were not high. He expected her to be able to hide herself from the rest of the lions, maybe the hyenas; but Freak was certain he'd be able to detect her with little difficulty.

The skinny, even gaunt lioness blinked, confused. The li-tigon had never spoken to her before; indeed, his conversations seemed to be restricted to only Simba and occasionally the hyenas. But the Lion King and his family looked at her meaningfully, then the hyenas joined him, and soon the entire group of Pride Landers were encouraging her.

Vitani shrugged in resignation, smiling at Freak for a heartbeat before his rock-like expression deterred her from doing so, and took a deep breath as she climbed behind the same bush.

"_Become one with the environment."_

She found herself swaying, slightly, in perfect time with the gentle, warm, humid breezes that cooled the Jungle from time to time.

"_Allow your heart to pulse alongside every other animal's."_

There were two minuscule lizards next to Vitani's paw. Feeling the loose, wet ground, she managed to detect the minute vibrations that indicated their heartbeats, and adjusted her own so that it was unrecognizable in the busy, disgusting, vitally alive Jungle.

"_...your breathing to be one with nature..."_

The lioness stopped holding her breath, and started taking long, slow breaths of air, sucking and gently expelling it from her lungs, the moisture in her jaw mixing perfectly with the hot, wet air of the Jungle.

Freak's advice ended there. But Vitani was smart... and she continued to obliterate herself from the awareness of anything that happened to be watching.

She altered the angle of her muzzle, breathing just so; so that she either breathed in her own scent or dispersed it beyond recognition to anything, even at close range. Vitani carefully moved her paws, slowly and gradually, building up the moist dirt underneath them so that the minute vibrations caused by her heart and breathing would be dampened to any sort of ground-crawling threat.

Freak was impressed, to be sure, when he noticed that the lioness was going so far as changing her breathing to do so in time with the warm, sporadic breezes of the Jungle. But the li-tigon could still detect her, barely. Then, suddenly, her already faint signal became weaker, weaker, until finally, he couldn't detect her at all.

Growling suddenly in confusion, he hopped over to the bush, looking for the lioness. But he couldn't see her, and still wasn't getting even the slightest reading from her even with combined efforts of all of his formidable senses.

"Damn... where did she go?" Freak asked himself, and the rest of the Pride rallied around him to search for her; to them, both cats had eradicated their presences equally as well.

"I'm right here," said a small voice from right underneath the li-tigon.

And all at once, Vitani came into view as if out of nowhere. She looked up at Freak with something like a smirk on her face, though one could tell that her satisfaction overcame any feelings of spite.

The li-tigon bared his teeth in a genuine grin, something that he only did on rare occasions. It still looked more threatening than friendly... but he was getting there. The lioness found herself smiling back, genuinely happy to be considered so impressive by such a dangerous predator.

But Freak's expression was gone as quickly as it had arrived, and Vitani found herself getting to her feet with even more interest in the li-tigon than the vague curiosity all felt towards him. The li-tigon, of course, was as analytical and pragmatic as ever.

"_She is good... a valuable addition to this... _temporary_ alliance."_

Freak nodded once to Vitani, then turned back to the rest of the Pride Landers.

"If she can do it so quickly... you should all be able to do it soon enough."

"But for now, I'll need to show you where we'll be staying in our off hours."

"_There won't be many of those."_

The li-tigon suddenly hopped into the treetops, taking advantage of his tiger mentality, and poked his furred head out of cover, looking around...

Freak landed back on the ground, softly, and started walking to the southeast... towards his cave. No one needed him to say a word to understand that they were to follow him.

* * *

Again, Simba was awed by his cousin's physical abilities. All of the Pride Landers were exhausted from the long, tiring walk through the unfriendly Jungle, though none dared to say a word. Even the ex-Outlanders, toughened up by their harsh lives, seemed ready to collapse. Kiara was worst off, though, and Nala and the Lion King occasionally had to lend her a shoulder to lean on.

"_Maybe I shouldn't have pampered her so much,"_ the tan lion thought, panting as his daughter shifted her weight onto him again.

"Cousin... how much longer?" Simba asked.

"It's not far..." said the li-tigon, and indeed, within seconds, he broke free of the treeline into the mud and short bushes that preceded the entrance to his cave.

Though the rock structure wasn't large, barely big enough for ten lions to comfortably fit in... there was something about it. Freak had explored other caves in the area, and some of them were big enough to accommodate herds of elephants. He'd never gone far, however... he always felt, for some reason, threatened when he went into a large cave.

But the li-tigon had noticed that he could tell a cave's approximate size and even composition by tapping it with his claws. And once, when he'd done so in his own cave just out of curiosity, he'd been astounded to realize that behind a thick wall of rock... there was another part to the cave, much larger; maybe even an opening to some sort of underground network of caves...

"How are we all sapossed ta fit in there?" asked Shenzi.

Freak gestured for Simba, Sarabi, Nala, Vitani, Shenzi, Ed, and a few other strong lionesses to enter with him. Before the others could misinterpret his actions, he spoke to them.

"The Jungle will not remain devoid of sentience for long... but there are none here strong enough to detect you without you detecting them first. Kill any who notice you, because if our presence is given away, we might as well be kill ourselves."

Without another word, the li-tigon ducked into the cave, followed by the selected Pride Landers, and paced against the far end of his home for a moment... the wall.

"Um... Freak? What are these?" Nala said in a tone of fearful curiosity.

The li-tigon followed her gaze, and realized what the Queen was looking at.

"The big one is Mother. The little one is sister," Freak said simply, before looking back at the wall.

He had an idea... something he'd seen a monkey do once; something that confused him utterly until just recently.

* * *

Freak was only a cub then. He was stalking a strange-looking monkey, but now knew that the primate's blue face-paints indicated that he was a shaman. The li-tigon had intended to follow the male to his mate, then kill her for her milk.

But he growled in frustration when he saw that the shaman was heading towards a large group of monkeys... there was no hope of killing a female and escaping. Freak was about to leave the area, when curiosity got the best of him.

The li-tigon watched as the entire group of monkeys bowed in deference to the shaman. The blue painted monkey howled, his voice ululating, vibrating the air in such a way that his call was amplified a thousand times over...

Freak nearly fell to the ground, clutching at his ears with his paws to keep from going deaf. The monkeys, however, did not have senses as sharp as the li-tigon's, and merely joined in his howl with their own.

Then, the shaman jumped into a tree, and started to beat on a thick branch. This confused Freak greatly. Surely the monkey knew that his scrawny arms didn't have the muscles to propel his fists hard enough to do any real damage to the branch?

But rather than trying to break it outright, the shaman hit it very quickly, though not hard. He was doing little more than shaking it... when his blows came at just the right rate, the entire tree started to vibrate.

Before the vibrations could subside, the shaman suddenly hit the branch with all of his strength, and the branch cracked once through its thickest part, and broke off, falling to the ground with a thud. The monkeys erupted into approving shouts, and the cub took his chance to leave.

Freak looked on in complete awe, and marked the shaman as a high threat then and there. The li-tigon had absolutely no idea how that monkey had broken the branch... but he didn't care. A being that powerful was a very high threat indeed.

A week later, the monkey clan finally gave up on their search for the shaman. They all knew that there was a predator in the Jungle, but before they'd always been able to find remains, at least. But this time, there were none. Not a trace.

The li-tigon had, after all, taken a great deal to shove the monkey face down into the nearby waterhole and drown him there, rendering whatever power he had over the elements useless. The heavy rock was tied to the shaman's ankle with a length of vine... give it another week, and the monkeys would have their remains.

* * *

"_He was vibrating it at just the right frequency to cause it to weaken internally. And then, a well-placed hit easily destroyed it. A rock wall will be harder, but I am fast enough to do it... and then, the others can break it when I get it right."_

"Get next to the wall. On my signal, strike it as hard as you can," Freak said in a voice that did not allow for question.

The Pride Landers looked at each another a bit, but shrugged, complying with his seemingly ridiculous order. Once he saw that everyone else was ready, the li-tigon looked back outside once more to make sure that the rest of the Pride Landers were okay. And then, he got on his back two legs, and beat the rock wall.

Faster and faster his strikes got, until the bones in his paws seemed ready to shatter first. But then, Freak could feel the entire wall vibrating just so, shaking the whole cave, making his companions look around in fear.

"Do it," he said, his paws throbbing in pain.

The Pride Landers hesitated, thinking that it was useless to hit such a barrier.. But a roar from Simba rallied them, and closing their eyes, the lions and hyenas struck as one—

The wall shattered into a pile of broken rock. Freak landed cleanly on all four feet, paws still sore from whacking the stone barrier. He ignored the incredulous looks given to him by the Pride Landers that he'd taken into the cave, as well as those by the ones out of it. He merely growled slightly, reminding them to tend to their duties.

Freak blinked once in awe at the sight that met his eyes. There was a huge cavern, dark and foreboding, yet easily adaptable to the purposes of a den. There was a lake in the middle, but the li-tigon didn't dare swim in it—he could smell that there were some minerals, or chemicals, or _something_ in it that wouldn't agree with his fur. But even with the huge lake taking up easily seventy percent of the cavern, there was more than enough room for the entire pride to comfortably sleep in. Stalagmites and stalactites jutted from the floor and ceiling, as if guarding dry stone from the lake...

Freak carefully sniffed at the water. He could smell nothing that indicated the presence of another animal... but he'd have to be careful nonetheless. But there was no option. Either he'd have to conceal the whole pride in the cave, or he'd have to deal with the near certainty of a sentient running across them and escaping while they slept. The trip hadn't really tired the li-tigon, but beating down the wall... that put him through his paces, and everyone else seemed about ready to collapse.

(Author's Note: I just realized, I have stayed awake for 29 hrs straight, or 17 hrs of sleep in a period of 72 hrs. LAN parties FTW.)

"Everyone, inside," said the li-tigon, and the Pride Landers happily complied, many not even bothering to look for a comfortable place to sleep before slumping over on the hard ground.

Freak slept in his customary spot, next to his mother and sister or their bones, anyway, and the hyenas huddled up not far from him, along with the royal family. Kiara sadly thought of Kovu before she allowed sleep to take her, though everyone else feel into dark unconsciousness without any preamble.

All was silent in the cave, save for the slight sounds of lion and hyena breathing. Freak's home was situated in such a way that the surrounding dirt wouldn't carry any vibrations he made it in into the Jungle at all, so the counterassassins were safe... from any threat in the Jungle.

* * *

The horrible mollusk writhed in the watery tunnel complex that extended for untold miles in all directions. Grotesquely, its many arms pulsated against the walls that encircled its massive body.

It held onto the walls, dragging itself along by utilizing its suckers; its siphon had been torn apart, along with many other parts of its body, in a fight with a much larger member of its species. It wasn't in good shape—two arms missing, one dangling uselessly behind it, with enough sucker-scars on its mantle to look like a honeycomb pattern of some sort.

Food had taken it out of its barren old territory... right into the clutches of the much larger, older, and stronger one. And now, food was taking it to new territory again. Just like always.

Underground caves, especially aquatic ones, are even more unexplored and mysterious than the bottom of the sea. And this creature was completely secretive. No animal had ever seen it and lived, and the same held true for its brethren, all of them, and had been so for centuries. They went from fact to myth, then from myth to legend, and then slowly passed out of the realm of believability...

But it needed to feed. Soon. That was believable.

The tunnel ahead turned upwards, and on the last fringes of its strength, the creature pulled itself up, exploding out of the water, into a large cavern...

* * *

Freak's ear twitched. He was dreaming, something that he did not commonly do.

_The li-tigon was alone, sitting on Pride Rock, looking in apathy at the carnage below. His family and all those that he knew were being torn apart in front of him, by all manner of creatures, many of which Freak had fought throughout his life. They seemed to be holding back the assailants... holding them back from Pride Rock, away from Freak._

"_They aren't threatening me, but they will. I can't fight them all. If I leave now, I can escape."_

_The li-tigon found himself on his feet, dashing for a secret escape that was built into the lion den. But he abruptly stopped in his tracks, and turned. He heard a voice, a familiar voice scream in agony, and looked over the edge of the large structure to see baby Uvuli being torn apart by a group of crows, Usiku unable to help her, busy in combat with an alligator. The sight of someone so innocent attacked in front of him evoked an emotion the li-tigon had never felt before... anger._

_Roaring terribly, he darted across the battlefield, slicing apart enemies on his way until he stood over Uvuli, daring the crows to come through him to get to the baby hyena. Foolishly, they did, and seconds later, the ground around the littered with bloody feathers and fragile bones._

"_Thanks, Freak..." said the smallish, black hyena._

_The li-tigon merely nodded, feeling one of his grins touch his face, before running off to help his... friends._

_Suddenly, everything changed._

_Freak was at the edge of the Jungle, where it nearly met the Pride Lands. He could see, in the distance, a lion approaching from the north..._

_Strangely, the li-tigon didn't feel threatened in the slightest, and felt neither the desire to hide, try to intimidate the lion, or pre-emptively kill it._

_But the closer it got, the more Freak realized that it looked like him... down to the scar on its eyelid._

_Finally, the brown lion stopped, sitting down at the edge of the Pride Lands, the sand buffer between father and son only twenty feet across at this point._

"_Hello, my son," Scar said, looking at the li-tigon, content happiness on his face._

_The li-tigon nodded, as if analyzing the dark cat._

"_Father... you're dead. How are you speaking to me?" Freak asked._

"_Ah, yes... no one's ever taught you... well, my son, the Great Kings of the Past never truly leave the realm of the living. They flow through their loved ones, guiding their actions and helping them, even in their darkest hours..._

"_Then where were you when I needed you?" the li-tigon callously interrupted._

"_...Because, my son, I am not a Great King. It was not to be, I have accepted it. My actions benefited your mother, this is true. But the cost... was great. Too great. I have been granted, at the request of my brother, the ability to speak with you. Others may as well, in coming days."_

"_We can't tell you anything that you don't know. But we can help you, in... other ways. So, my son... is there anything you want to know? Or anything you want to talk about?"_

_Freak slowly shook his head, not understanding._

"_Nothing?" asked Scar._

_The li-tigon thought before speaking._

"_Am I bad, Father?"_

_Scar tilted his head, questioningly. A soft desert breeze tossed his black mane to the side._

"_Others express the desire to have mates. Families. Friends. They care about each another. I don't. And I don't understand why they do."_

_But the dark lion only laughed, and said, "Be honest with yourself, my son. You do care about others, I am sure of that. I was allowed to speak with you, because of what you just dreamed... you could have escaped without harm. But you chose not to. You care, I think, more than you know. And some day, soon, you will show this. I hope."_

"_...Good people draw a circle around them, and place inside it their mate and their cubs. Great people draw larger circles, including their siblings, parents, and other relations. But some people... have circles that include many. My son, you have never laid a paw on another when you didn't have to, and you always did what you could to ease the suffering, even of those that betray or curse you. Without knowing it, you have drawn a very large circle... one that includes every son or daughter of the Circle of Life. You might not have any great affections for any individual or group, but I believe there is something about you, my son, that allows you to care for all..."_

_Freak sat there, not quite knowing what to think. No one had ever shown or told him that there was hope for his hollow soul... until he met Simba, his cousin._

"_Leaving the Jungle was smart" the li-tigon said, and his father nodded at that._

_There was a long pause._

"_Father... are you lying to me?" Freak asked._

_But Scar laughed again._

"_Does it matter?" the dark lion said, before vanishing._

* * *

"Were_ you lying?" asked Chukizo, nudging her mate with her nose as he returned._

"_Perhaps... yes, I was," said Scar with a sigh, slumping to the ground, "but he does need at least one person to tell him that there's still hope for him."_

"_But he might have seen through it. You heard what he said at the end..."_

"_Well... you should be able to speak with him in a few days. Maybe you can get through to him," Scar said, patting his mate's head._

"_We'll see," said the tigon, favoring the dark lion with a purr._

"_I suppose we shall..."_

* * *

(To kill her or not? ...We'll see what happens. Also, I'm aware that the next part is probably biologically inaccurate.)

Sarabi was sleeping calmly. Though she was an old lioness, she was as rugged as any Outlander; always keeping herself in prime physical condition and going out on every single hunt, except for the day that she'd given birth to Simba.

Despite the wrinkles in her now dull tan form, she was ten times deadlier than she looked. Maybe even more so than fighters like Vitani, Kovu, or Nala, and certainly more than her pampered grand-daughter.

(note, for this part, I pulled on my poor little kitten's foot to see how he reacted)

She felt something wrap around her foot and pull it, as if testing her strength. Still half asleep, she pulled back, feeling the force pulling on her become greater and greater...

Suddenly, with a shriek that turned into a roar, Sarabi was yanked high into the air, dangling there for a microsecond, clawing furiously at the tentacle that was bonded to her foot, before plunging into the icy, foreboding water with enough force to slam the air out of her lungs.

In an instant, every Pride Lander was on his or her feet, Freak quickest of them all.

"Mom?" whimpered Nala; no one had actually seen what had happened to the former Queen.

Tentatively, following her mother's scent, the matriarch trotted to the edge of her lake.

"Get back!" the li-tigon suddenly said, dashing to stand in between his relative and the water faster than blinking.

Incredibly, Sarabi emerged from the lake, gasping, literally pulling herself from death's door—she was still being dragged inexorably below the strangely calm water's surface. Nala, Kiara, Simba, and several other lions in the ex-Queen's immediate vicinity piled onto her , but they were only delaying the inevitable.

Freak forced himself to stay calm , and think. Within a second, he came to his conclusion.

"Everyone, follow me!" he roared authoritatively.

"_I have to know my enemy,"_ the li-tigon thought, pausing only to exert his massive bite force onto the muscled tentacle tip, biting through it with difficulty.

Then, he dived into the lake, the rest of his force following with an almost imperceptible second of hesitation. The freezing cold water hit Freak like a sledgehammer, but not nearly as hard as the terrifying sight of his enemy.

The animal was gigantic; its body alone was the size of an elephants. Like horrible, moribund vines, its pasty limbs extended for over sixty feet... and from the tough, sinewy texture of the practical tip of its tentacle, Freak knew that fighting it would be difficult.

"_But I have to try. She'll die otherwise. Maybe... my circle _is_ large."_

Even though the animal was nearly dead... it was still more than a match for even over a dozen fit lions and three hyenas. But Freak knew that small animals could always find a larger one's weak point. It happened daily—cornered meerkats attacking their eyes of their aggressors, badgers going in for low blows...

And the li-tigon had spotted this animal's weak point.

Its siphon, though dead in the water, offered direct access to to the inside of the mollusk's mantle. Freak did not know this on an academic level. But he saw an opening that reminded him of an ear, and knew that it could be exploited to get to... a larger animal's brain.

Not caring that he might run out of air, the li-tigon darted into the siphon before his enemy could do anything about it. The rest of the Pride Landers attempted to follow him, but before they could, the opening shut off as the mollusk stopped paying attention to anything but the terrible pain in its mantle.

Its many arms writhed, grasping at its own body, tearing chunks of its own flesh out. Seeing Freak's plan, the Pride Landers attacked the mantle as best they could, now and again getting torn off by the mollusc's painful suckers.

Suddenly, the li-tigon was ripped from inside his enemy's mantle, thrown so hard that he hit the stone tunnel with a thud that was heard above water. He slowly floated down, down, down... and the Pride Landers he'd taken with him into the lake were still attacking the mollusk.

He was about to sink out of sight when the entire royal family caught him, lifting him upwards. Freak was on the very last reserves of his air, blacked out from the impact, but managed to open an eye—

The water was red with blood now, and the mollusc's feeble attempts to fend off the Pride Landers's ferocious attacks became more and more sporadic. Finally, they stopped altogether, and it slowly started to sink into the depths.

"_It's wrong to waste," _thought the li-tigon.

He allowed the royal family to take him to the surface, and by now he'd shaken himself out of the impact. The rest of the Pride Landers joined him shortly after, none, not even Sarabi, were seriously injured. They chuckled at one another, some could even swear they saw the beginnings of a smile touch Freak's features.

"Let's get it," the li-tigon suddenly said, diving again, before the giant corpse could be lost...

* * *

"_So you see, my little abomination, there is hope for him," Scar said, smiling at the tigon._

"_Yes... I'm so glad that our son might yet be able to find people that care for him, that he cares for..."_

"_Maybe he already has."_

_Chukizo nodded at that._

"_Perhaps. We'll see," she said, looking back down at the incredible scene unfolding below._

* * *

The animal was bigger than an elephant. In the water, it was easy to lift, being that its body density was not so different from water itself. But getting it to a position on land where it wouldn't slip back into the lake...

It took hours, and it was dawn by the time the Pride Landers were finished. But thankfully, Jungle insects seemed put off by the meat, and refused to touch it. It wouldn't spoil easily.

Warily, Freak took a bite out of the strange, stringy meat. He'd had fish before, on rare occasions, there were lakes large enough to support marine life in parts of the Jungle far from his cave. But this mollusk was something new entirely.

The Pride Landers, exhausted, but awake out of fear of another attack, looked at him to see his verdict.

The li-tigon grinned in his terrifying way, and plunged into the mollusk, tearing out, with difficulty, a large hunk of its flesh, chewing it and gulping it down. The rest of the counterassassins joined him without hesitation. It had been a long night...

"_Before we even go to the Bloody Shadows... we'll all need to learn to live, fight, and remain invisible in the Jungle. ...They'll all need to become stronger than I am now. And I'll need to become so much stronger that it will reduce how I am now to the level of a cub."_

"Eat well... we won't be having any more food for a week..."

* * *

Two months later...

The counterassassins had indeed become stronger.

Vitani was hiding in the roots of a tree. She was behind tracked by the rest of the Pride Landers. Things were complicated by the fact that all had to remain undetected by every other being in the Jungle. But the ex-Outlander could tell that they were coming for her... after all, they needed to remain invisible to the rest of the Jungle, and not her.

She sighed, slightly; completely imperceptible to even the colony of ants that thought she was nothing more than a pile of dirt. But that was her mistake.

"Found you," said a voice from above her, and she looked up to the see the li-tigon looking down at her.

Even then, the two were invisible to everything; everything but the rest of the Pride Landers.

The rest of the counterassassins darted through the trees and across, as if ghostly, some even traveling directly through congregations of prey animals. They'd been changed, in both psychology and physiology.

Simba, who used to be a big, nearly barrel-chested lion, was now as slim and lithely built as Freak. Kiara, who the li-tigon had had to take a lot of personal interest in was now easily as deadly as he had been. Sarabi, though old, had virtually stopped aging due to being forced into the best shape of her life. The hyenas were all roughly at the same level of ferocity, stronger and deadlier than Usiku had been, but without the black hyena's tank-like physique.

Yes, these deadly warriors were worth at least five of the Bloody Shadows's best assassins. But there were hardly twenty of them. And the Shadows were hundreds strong. There was no back-up coming, and they'd be on unfamiliar ground.

But there was still a large chance of success. Freak, at least, knew that Saliti had to be a coward, and would retreat at the first sign of danger to himself. And if the Assassin Lord wasn't there to rally his troops, the Shadows would fall easily.

The li-tigon wasn't very worried about what might happen after that. Sure, the assassins would try to scatter. But he expected that they'd be easy to track down, and that he'd be able to exterminate them from the face of the Earth within weeks.

What Freak did worry about was any children the Bloody Shadows might have. Cubs were never threats, and neither the li-tigon nor the Pride Landers would law a paw on a non-threat. Little did the counterassassins know... the Shadows had shed blood before.

* * *

The female hyena cried, cuddling the stillborn cub.

"Be silent, woman," Saliti growled, taking a threatening step towards one of his many mates.

"You monster... can't you see that the Great Spirits are punishing us for your misdeeds? Ever since you came to power... and killed _every single cub_ in this land... we have not had a single birth."

"And the diseases... famines... floods... droughts... Saliti, curse you, stop doing this!" she said.

The cruel leader merely growled, and struck her with such force that every bone on the left side of her face broke.

"Do with her what you will," he said, nodding towards his starving henchmen.

For the next ten minutes, only terrible screams, ripping and breaking sounds were heard.

"_My boys like their meat fresh... still alive,"_ Saliti thought, with a terrible smile, as he turned to the body of his own son with hunger in his eyes: even the Assassin Lord hadn't been able to eat well for a few days now.

And recently birthed flesh is tender.

* * *

"_Maisha, where are you?" called Chukizo, looking around for her daughter._

"_Boo!" said the baby li-tigon, hoping out at her mother suddenly._

"_Oof!" said the tigon, pretending to fall over at the force of the little one's pounce._

"_Got you, Mom!" Maisha said with a giggle, batting the tigon with her minuscule paws._

"_Yes... come on, look at your brother. Isn't he so brave? Look, he's leading all of them into the Bloody Shadows..."_

"_Wow..." the li-tigon, Freak's sister, gasped, "you can do it, big brother?"_

"_He's not really your big brother," said Scar, yawning as he walked over to take a look, "he's exactly as old as you are."_

_Maisha stuck out her tongue at her father, earning her a finger wagged in her direction._

"_I'm going to have to teach you a lesson," the dark lion said, suddenly chasing his daughter around and around Chukizo._

_Further off, Dhaifu, Jinga, and Ziwi were lounging around their father. The regal tiger was nothing like the way he was when he died; his fur no longer hung off of his bones and he wasn't battered and bruised like he had been on the ship._

"_...and that, my sons, is how the blue jackal perished. Never, ever abandon your friends, no matter how special you think you are," Shere Kahn said, telling the three a story that had been passed down in his family for generations._

"_I'll have to tell my grandson that sometime soon," he noted to himself, before looking down, but not at Freak._

"_Samehe," he whispered, "how good of a being you are to forgive me for what I did..."_

_Scar had by now caught Maisha, and was tumbling around with her on the soft ground._

"_Dad... we're pals, right?" the baby li-tigon asked with a giggle, finding that she'd come out on top, pinning the dark lion to the ground._

"_Yes..." Scar said, smiling without sarcasm, a rare enough thing, "you, me, your mother... and your brother... we're all pals..."_

_Chukizo looked over, surprised to see that her mate was tearing up. The tigon was about to go and comfort him, when it hit her, too..._

"_My poor son... he's never really had parents. And we've only started to guide him now... my poor, poor, son..."_

_Things were about to get too emotional for CIA.al-Mujahid to write about when suddenly, Mufasa came running up._

"_Scar, brother... Chukizo... want to play tag?"_

* * *

The counterassassins were making their way southwards. They planned to do it in two days, but things were going well. They were even stronger than they thought, and as always, they remained completely invisible to the Jungle at large...

Freak knew that the Bloody Shadows had eyes, but was confident that with effort his small army could travel undetected. The li-tigon was at the head of the group, the royal family and the hyenas immediately behind him, the rest of the Pride Land lionesses fanned out to make sure they went unnoticed. They'd had, during their training, some close calls...

But all in all, it was successful. More prey animals were taken, this was true, but Freak had the counterassassins hunt carefully: no one area suffered unrecoverable losses. The Jungle as a whole would take some time to get back to its previous level of fauna, but such fluctuations were natural.

Still, Freak knew there were many things... many things that he didn't know.

"_I still don't understand love. But I think that I care about my friends. And I know that they care about me. But there are other things I must understand. Healing. And swimming... that animal couldn't have been unique. Nothing is. Nothing but me; and I'm a freak. When I was in that lake... I saw that it was underground. And I heard things... big things... miles away. Maybe even Under the Pride Lands, the Bloody Shadows, the Desert, the Grass Lands to the east... they could go anywhere. I need to learn to swim, a thousand times better than I can."_

"_But for now, I'll have to make the Shadows bleed. And then, only after the assassins can't threaten me any more... then, I'll make my circle bigger."_

"_But the Shadows need to bleed. Now."_

* * *

Tanga had left the Bloody Shadows as a young lion.

And now he returned old.

The only feline assassin of the Bloody Shadows had gone on a very touchy, very secret mission under the orders of Damu... so secret that he didn't even fully understand it, and could explain only so much to Saliti. But even though he'd done his best, the obstinate hyena wasn't allowing him to see his loved one.

"Curse you, student of Kivuli! It's been years since I saw her! Do you understand me? YEARS!" Tanga roared in anguish, his heart had broken every day he spent without Msafiri.

The Assassin Lord smiled, and moved a finger. That's all it took.

Tanga, a powerful, deadly assassin... or at least, that's what he used to be, found himself pinned to the ground by Saliti's cruel henchmen.

"_Great Spirits... send someone... anyone... to free the Bloody Shadows..."_

* * *

(You know, I had originally wanted two newcomers to review. But what the hey, this was fun writing. I imagine that we'll see two more parts to Counterassassins, maybe three. After that, I've got a bunch of possible story arcs in mind. I might even delve into the supernatural, besides Heaven, of course. I'll try to get a new chapter done by Sunday, but don't quote me on that. This is al-Mujahid looking forward to seeing the Shadows bleed soon, see you then.)


	9. Counterassassins 2: They Must or We Will

The Lion King: The Freak  
Chapter 9: Counterassassins II: They Must, or We Will

* * *

(Freak seems fairly confident about himself. But Saliti's got more than one trick up his sleeve, and it's going to take a lot of doing to catch him with his trousers down. But harsh situations breed harsh beings... and it'll be interesting to see if our friends rise to the challenge.

I like MattII's style of reviewing, though it's sort of hard to tell what comment relates to what section at times. I know that there aren't really any insects that venomous, thank Gods, but it does add to the story. Hell... they could be a great weapon, if harnessed and respected. Yeah, I sort of felt like placating all of the whiny people complaining about how Freak has no one... look, that's just how it is. He's a loner, and that's not going to change, not without a Helluva lot of conflict anyway. But I do have something in mind... next story arc. More Heaven scenes coming up soon. Saliti's attacking Tanga because he's a . Also, Simba's afraid of the Jungle because he lived in the much more hospitable northwest of it, Freak's cave is in the east.

Heheh I didn't actually pull my cat through the air, just sort of fiddled with his foot for a second, and inspiration sort of came to me. I have something in mind for Banzai and Usiku, and let me tell you, it ain't pretty.

Inakura is wise, Freak and Vitani? Please... then again, Freak and anyone? Well, we'll have to see what happens.

Yeah, I sort of find it difficult to forget things. It's weird, but helpful at times, except of course when I'm trying to relate to other people. Freak's circle _probably_ includes only himself, after all, Scar did admit he was lying. But damn—maybe his father's words will galvanize something in our poor li-tigon, and he'll be able to have a large circle if not today then someday.

I'm not going to have much backstory here again. Except for Tanga's mission. It is, shall we say, interesting. There are some big players here... they aren't anything anyone's ever seen before, but they are VERY powerful. They are...)

* * *

(I think I will recommend music for each part of writing. For this part, try 47 Attacks by Jesper Kyd, from the Hitman Blood Money OST. /watch?vwZ4-5BU1FQ)

Damu was... intimidated.

At least.

The tank-like hyena was being threatened in his own cave; his own home. And he couldn't do a thing about it. True, he was the most powerful hyena in the Bloody Shadows and therefore, probably the whole world. But this... this animal was something that had not walked the Earth for thousands and thousands of years. For it to come to life... something in the world was wrong.

Something was horribly, disgustingly wrong.

This feline... it was a slightly dusty shade of tan, if the Assassin Lord had seen an Outland lion, he would have said they looked alike, as far as color, at least. But this animal had fluffy fur, and a facial structure closer to that of a tiger than a lion. But it was no tigon, nor liger, nor unheard-of second-generation abomination. The huge, saber-like teeth that hung out of its mouth made that possibility an _im_possibility.

"Damu, Assassin Lord... I have an assignment for you," he said, taking a step closer to the dark hyena.

But the hyena held his ground, if barely.

"People generally come to me for just that purpose," he said dryly.

The feline's lips twitched, and then he tilted his head back to laugh loudly, a truly disturbing sound. Incredibly, not one of Damu's half-dozen or so mates awoke, though they were in the very same cave.

"Ah... interesting... you have a sense of humor... that only rears its head in a truly hopeless position," the feline said, and met Damu's eyes for the first time.

At that, the Assassin Lord felt his entire body seize up. He couldn't move, not even his eyes, and couldn't breathe—

Then the feline looked away.

"No doubt you are wondering what I am."

"When I was alive, I was called a saber-toothed tiger. My kind have not walked on the Earth for thousands and thousands of years... but I have been brought back."

"You do not need to know how, or why. But I shall tell you... you think that your life was bad... mere leader of the Bloody Shadows? You do have some morals, unlike at least one of your sons. But I, when I lived... haha... well, let's just say that my assassination corps was a thousand times more feared than yours. And not just in one location, no. We were feared from sea to sea of a land ninety times as large as your area of influence. We had no set home... your son will continue to operate out of one location, but perhaps the Assassin Lord after that..."

"Trouble is coming. Hard times... you will not live to see them, we are sure of that. But the fact remains, we have an assignment for you."

"And what shall I be paid?"

The feline growled slightly, but shrugged.

"A reasonable question. We were always paid for our services... ...I can offer you nothing now. But when my leader comes to power, and he shall, very soon," the tiger chuckled darkly, "you will be allowed to be our lieutenant. You desire power, and women, Damu? You shall have more than your fill of each."

"And... who is your leader?"

"Do not ask such questions."

The saber-tooth turned to exit the cave.

"Your assignment is this... send a lone assassin to the Western Grasslands—"

"No, I can't do that! You must know of the treaty, set so long ago! Predators are not to set paw in those lands, it will cause the Great Spirits to do who knows what!" said Damu, suddenly panicking until his eyes met the feline's again.

"Good... you do not understand _why_ you are not to set paw in those lands. Do not worry about the Great Spirits... you should be more worried about appeasing the future lord of the Earth and Heavens!" the saber-tooth laugh loudly again, and then jumped into the air, vanishing...

Damu stood there, for a moment, petrified, until he realized he could move again.

"_I will only entrust this mission to the most loyal of my followers..."_

"Tanga!" the Assassin Lord barked, to his personal body-guard, hitman, and friend, "I have an assignment for you..."

* * *

(Pool of Fears by Scars of Life

/watch?vC9Q5amdFKaw)

The tan lion made for the West as fast as he could. But the Great Spirits had not allowed for the Bloody Shadows to be located directly next to the Western Grasslands, where all prey returned to at least once a year to graze, and mate. No, he had to pass through miles and miles of virtually barren plains. Tanga wasn't able to eat well, either. He'd had to carefully snatch away prey only when he needed to, and if they ever caught him doing that, well... prey animals, though they were not sentient, had stronger connections to the Great Spirits. If they found out that a predator was coming into the Grasslands, Tanga, and perhaps even the whole Bloody Shadows would be completely dead.

"_The Great Spirits... they're a mystery. They say that when we die, we do not become Great Spirits, yet we can, sometimes, speak with those that we left behind... so Great Spirits... what are they?"_

"_They say that the Pride Land lions know more about the Great Spirits and the Heavens than most. But the Pride Lands... I've never been able to go there... perhaps one day, when I am a retired assassin... perhaps Msafiri and I can find a home among our own kind. It's unfortunate that Lord Damu had to spread the rumor that I was dead. I hope, I hope that I can return before our cub is grown..."_

* * *

Weeks later, the full scope of Tanga's task hit him.

"Why did Damu order me to kill only females... only females, until there's just one female for every ten males? It makes no sense... and there are thousands, _thousands_ of them. This will take... years..."

"I should get started... Msafiri's waiting for me..."

* * *

Far, far away, on an island buffered from the Pride Lands and the Bloody Shadows by a wide, deep river, the saber-tooth reappeared. He bowed low to the ground, and a voice spoke to him.

"Have the Bloody Shadows accepted their part in our uprising?"

"Yes, master..." replied the tiger, humbly, not raising even his eyes.

"Excellent... our time draws near... be prepared, servant... our time draws very near, indeed..."

There was a dark chuckle, and a cold gust of wind chilled the saber-tooth to the bone. He understood that his master, the one responsible for bringing him back had left.. and looked skywards, a terrible grin on his face.

"What we shall accomplish, master... will make the petty achievements of my lifetime and those of the Bloody Shadows look like nothing, in comparison..."

(I promise that that part was not just backstory. I'll bring it into play on my own time, in a story arc or two. But I hope you see what powers are coming into play... things will get interesting, to say the least.)

* * *

(Enough Dead Heroes from the Halo OST

/watch?vakEnxQK-fWU )

"What now, cousin?" asked Simba, emerging from the Jungle to stand by the li-tigon's side.

It was true. The problem was very large. About one hundred feet high, and a quarter-mile across, to be precise.

The counterassassins were at the edge of the upraised volcanic soil on which the Jungle was located. To the north was the dense mess of trees, vines, and animals from which they'd just emerged, and to the south was the very same, impassible cliff face that the young Chukizo had ascended in her desperate grasp for freedom. There was the waterfall as well, of course, that ended that dizzying drop below in a deep, large, lake, but to try to dive into it would be absolute suicide.

Freak took a deep breath, and thought back. Every problem was complex, yes, but comprised of many simple parts. Break it down, solve each part, and the problem is no problem.

The height couldn't be solved, not by the simple li-tigon, anyway. But that it ended in a lake... that could be exploited.

Freak looked around behind him, poking into the Jungle for a moment. None of his soldiers followed him, save for the hyenas, who saw it as treasonous on their part to leave their leader for even a moment, unless ordered to. Minutes later, the four counterassassins arrived back in the clearing, as the Pride Land lions took turns in looking over the edge and backing away in fear.

The li-tigon and the hyenas were dragging behind them a large, heavy log. Though none but Freak knew what was planned, all of the counterassassins quickly joined in and tugged the log just to the edge of the cliff, then waiting for Freak's explanation.

"If we dump it into the lake... it will disrupt the surface enough for us to safely dive into it. There's a small danger of hitting the bottom of the lake or the log itself... but we will _all_ take care of any of our own unfortunate enough to hit something."

"But we'll all have to follow it only a second after dropping it... going before or after my mark will probably kill you."

The counterassassins all knew that the li-tigon was not saying it for effect, or exaggerating what would happen at all. In their training, they'd all done some swimming, not much but some, and each knew that diving from heights above twenty feet was risky. Of course, they never swam in the lagoon in the cave, and after that night a watch was always posted.

Freak searched for words. His plan was not foolproof: he could not hope to exert enough blunt force to test the log and see how well it would hold up to the impact awaiting it. For all he knew, it would shatter on impact... he'd picked a heavy one, but there was still no telling.

"_This single action could kill all of us. But there's no other option... we can't go all the way back to the Pride Lands's southern edge, then circle around the eastern volcanoes, then cross through the unexplored areas to the east of there, and then come to the Lower Plains... there's no time. And crossing over the eastern volcanoes is a fool's errand: Usiku told me that they were a thousand times as impassible as the western volcanoes, and he alone barely crossed those out of desperation... trying to get an army through there without the Bloody Shadows noticing is not possible..."_

"_It's the only way..."_

The li-tigon sighed, and stood on top of the log, looking over his soldiers with a sense of harsh pride in his eyes.

* * *

"_Scar, brother," grinned Mufasa, interrupting the dark lion's nap._

"_What is it this time... Muffy?" Scar groaned, using the pet-name that the tan lion hated so much._

_But this time, Mufasa was having the last laugh._

"_See... your son is trying his paw at public speaking."_

"_What?!" Scar jumped to his feet, bounding to watch Freak's speech, moving faster than he had since... well, since he'd been chased by his brother after Simba's ceremony, once Sarabi was too exhausted to survey her mate._

_Chukizo, Sher Kahn, and the three other tigons were watching, as Freak spoke without emotion, as always..."_

* * *

"You are all great fighters now. Strong, stealthy, self-sufficient... I have taught you many things. You... learned well. Quickly. Without complaint, no matter what I told you to do," the li-tigon grinned slightly, and his troops, his comrades, his brothers in arms, his friends chuckled back, softly, they all knew that some of the things that they'd had to do were absolutely ridiculous.

"And now, we are faced with another challenge. This is no different—the stakes are merely higher. There's no way around this obstacle... we'll have to go straight through it."

"Stay close behind me... maybe, if I must die, some of you will be saved... but make no mistake, we may all die now."

"I just wanted to say.. it has been both an honor, and a pleasure, to train alongside side you all. I may have taught you some things... but you taught me many things, as well," ended Freak.

He looked at all of his counterassassins once again. There was no love or great affection, just unyielding determination to get the job done right. But Vitani, Simba, Kiara, Ed, Shenzi, and T all swore... they saw those cold, dark eyes flicker...

Freak pulled his lips back to roar, and such were the reflexes of the counterassassins that they were able to join in just as he started to. The burst of noise was short, intense, and audible from the Jungle to the Desert, to the volcanoes on either side of them...

* * *

(Main Theme from Letters from Iwo Jima OST

/watch?vjmDjcvLe4c )

"Did you hear that?" asked a muffled voice from inside a sand dune.

The harsh-looking, old, dusty-tan lioness nodded curtly once, and raised her paw. Along with it rose three or four of the Desert's finest hunters, out of the Desert itself.

"It could be an invasion..." suggested one.

"From the north? But the dogs have only ever attacked from the south. For the past... generation."

It was true. The Desert had been at war with the Dark Forest, at its border little more than a swamp, for years now. Disagreement about prey sharing had been intense for as far back as anyone knew, but in the past, the two rival lands had always been able to come to some bloodless agreement. But for the past few years... prey had gotten scarcer and scarcer, down to the point where only one land could be fed by the still-decreasing amount of food coming into that area.

The lions had the upper hand, at first, being stronger and tougher as individuals. But the wild dogs of the swamp had numbers and teamwork on their side, and the Desert had suffered great losses of late.

"_But we're not dead yet,"_ thought Samehe.

Though the alpha male had needed to be sent to the Lower Plains in the northwest, the pride there long dead from lack of genetic diversity, the toughest Desert lionesses fought one, Samehe at their head.

"_The order to fall back to the Lower Plains may come at any day now. But until then... we will not let the dogs have another _inch_ of our land."_

Tough environments breed tough creatures. The aged Samehe was the toughest of the bunch, there was no doubt about that. But the lionesses under her control... they'd grown up to war, chaos, violence, and loss. There was a killer streak in all of them... and Samehe found herself wondering how strong they'd be as adults, because now, they were all still juveniles.

"_They Bloody Shadows are to the north of the Lower Plains. But the dogs that rule that land broke all ties with their Forest brethren when the Shadows were born. And... no one has a reason to hate the lions of the Desert... except for one..."_

"_Chukizo... do you live, after all these years? Have you come, for revenge? Perhaps, with the strong lions of the Pride Lands? Have you defeated the cliff, again?"_

"We'll have to check it out. War is uncertainty... and we need to end this one," said the old lioness, even as she loped northwards, flanked by her finest soldiers.

"_It's hours away... and we'll have to turn back, quickly, to fight the next advances of the dogs."_

"_Shadows aren't the only ones that know how to be invisible."_

* * *

(Hey Man, Nice Shot by Filter, from Short Bus

/watch?vUMJVpn4BMY )

The roar stopped as abruptly as it started. Freak hopped off the log, then, alone, pushed it off, over the cliff's edge.

The fall was so great, that he had enough time to slowly turn, face his troops as if for the last time, and say, "See you on the other side," before jumping off.

The rest of the Pride Landers followed, a split second later.

The impact was intense, even for the highly-trained and highly tough counterassassins. But the log had done its job. It shattered on impact, so there was no harm done from its previously enormous mass onto the small army. Even so, many a Pride Lander dove far enough into the lake to touch its deep, dark bottom... some other realized that where they were, the lake _had_ no bottom.

Moments later, all emerged at the side of the lake. Incredibly, there were no Desert animals around. Or perhaps, not so incredibly... the war drove many non-prey animals out, and there just weren't any prey animals to speak of.

Freak registered this, but did not know why no one was guarding the only oasis that he could see in the area. But he brushed it off. The affairs of the Desert were not his concern. At least, not yet. The li-tigon looked to the northwest—the Lower Plains were not far, they could easily reach within two hours. But first, there was the small matter of wiping their presence from the Desert. And though the counterassassins had trained hard in jungle environments, parts of which were similar to the Lower Plains... the desert landscape was a mystery to them.

"_We have to move on. And if we leave a trace..."_

"Brush your trails in the sand clear with your tails.. watch behind yourselves until you can imitate the pattern of the sand perfectly. It won't be perfect... but it's windy, and our tracks will be covered up. As for scent, we need to leave this area now... and the wind is with us. That might change, I know little of the Desert. If it does, merely rely on your training, and you will never be smelled. Let's go," said Freak, making to the northwest at a pace fast enough to make his troops know that the situation was no joke.

"Cousin," said Simba, being sure to wipe his trail clean, "what's wrong?"

"I'm not sure," said Freak, "just a feeling..."

* * *

"There's nothing there," reported the scout, emerging from the sand.

Samehe didn't react, at first. The rest of her small, guerrilla force took that as a sign of danger, and slowly crawled out of the sand themselves.

"_That manner of fighting which I developed... it's good for concealment, and sneak attacks. But the sand muffles vibrations, and blocks smell... that's why we always have to peer out, two eyes in the Desert, see our targets, and then attack relying only on our wit and claws..."_

The old lioness, stealthier than Vitani when in the Desert, stepped forward, closer to the lake, and sniffed deeply. There was a scent... it smelled like the nomral scent of Desert lions, and the guerrillas did need water from time to time. But it was, somehow, different.

"Chukizo..."

* * *

Finally, the li-tigon plodded to a halt. They'd passed the geographic barrier between the Desert and the Lower Plains some hours ago, and now that the counterassassins were back in terrain familiar to them, he felt certain that they could detect any incoming threats... and deal with them, one way or the other.

"_After all, everyone is a threat."_

"All right... just like we practiced. Quarter-mile perimeter. Ed, Shenzi, T, you're scouting to the north. Vitani, Kiara, Sarabi, to the west. Simba, Nala... you're with me," Freak said, heading east; his orders were complied almost before he spoke them.

Vitani, Shenzi or T, who were to his back-right when he spoke, might have brushed by him so slightly that it was imperceptible to all parties involved. Freak was busy going to the east, they were busy going to their respective positions...

"Remain invisible," the li-tigon said once, and that's all it took.

Closing his eyes, knowing that they were useless to even try to detect the counterassassins, he listened, smelled, and felt.. nothing.

"Move," he growled softly, and slunk off to the east, flanked by the two older monarchs.

* * *

Freak could see why the original Lower Plains pride had been dead for several years.

It was true, there was plenty of water, and the cloudy, storm-ridden climate of the area allowed for the growth of a huge amount of vegetation.

The problem was with the plants themselves. Over the course of millenia, they'd evolved to be resistant to the trauma of thunderstorms and flooding. They were tough, only barely capable of supporting life. This problem created more problems...

With less and less prey to go around over the past generation, the surviving herds had traveled to more hospitable areas... such as the Pride Lands, the Jungle, and sometimes, the unexplored lands to the east of the volcanoes. And rumor had it that those lands were unexplored for very, very good reasons.

The li-tigon had only see a few gazelle in the hours he'd spent scouting. And they weren't in herds, just random individuals.

"_I was lucky to grow up in the Jungle. Aside from the Pride Lands, and perhaps the Bloody Shadows, no land around here can be considered hospitable..."_

"_Maybe... my destiny lies far, far away from all of this."_

"_But for now, I'm busy."_

Nala and Simba had managed to communicate with each another, taking advantage of Freak's absorption into the task at hand. It was never much, perhaps a mouthed sentence or a paw-signal every few minutes, but Nala got the message.

"_Simba... why can't you understand? He's a loner, and always has been. He's with us for this one task... he's not really part of any pride, not even ours. I don't know how he feels about, well, anything, and neither do you. But maybe... he knows that he's not ready for life in a pride. Maybe, leaving us is his way of showing us that he cares."_

"_Or maybe he just doesn't like us. We might be his family... but we were never there for him,"_ Nala noted sadly, reflecting once again on how hard Freak's life must have been, even from the few stories he shared about his past in the Jungle.

"You did what you could," Freak said, not looking behind him, he'd detected the slight changes in air pressure, and decoded them into paw signaling and facial movement, "and that's more than I ask for," he said, turning around to give the couple his threatening grin.

"_It's also more than I deserve. Father... you were lying. My circle includes only myself... that was a dream. There are so many times that I could have helped others... but chose not to, because it was dangerous. I... I'll try... to make it bigger. But life has not prepared me to be like this."_

"_Because everyone is a threat," _he thought, jumping slightly when Simba raised his paw, almost getting into a fighting stance to defend himself from an aggressive blow.

But the tan lion merely patted Freak on the shoulder, and the li-tigon felt Nala come closer to him as well.

"Cousin... we don't know what path the Great Spirits have in mind for you... or if you'll do something other than that, entirely. But whatever you do... you'll always find a home, a family, and love, in the Pride Lands. Always."

Freak closed his eyes for a moment, and nodded, feeling an unfamiliar obstruction in his throat. He swallowed once, and gave the monarchs the second natural smile of his life. It wasn't scary in the slightest... but still, Nala and Simba found themselves rooted to their spots for the next several seconds.

"_The Shadows will bleed. But after that... I'll have to find my way. I'm still young,"_ noted the li-tigon; indeed, he was only slightly older than Kiara, and slightly younger than Kovu.

"_That's right. There are many things I need to know. And maybe, after this... I'll go and see Granny Samehe,"_ Freak thought back on Msafiri's last words.

* * *

(Sibling Rivalry by Clint Mansell from the Doom movie OST, get an imeem account for this one

profile./Yo-WAH/music/sErLLRTy/clintmanselllabratorysiblingrivalry/)

"Report," the li-tigon said, all three scouting groups had met back at the rendezvous point at almost exactly the same time.

The perimeter was still in effect, but it was relaxed, with more lioness returning to listen to the conversation directly. A quarter mile was a bit far... the counterassassins at the perimeter would not be able to hear their next move directly.

"There's not much to the west," Sarabi said, Kiara continuing on, "there's a couple of lakes, here and there," Vitani spoke up now, "but not much... it's like a dead land... for plants... with a lot of secrets..."

everyone seemed to agree to that, even the lionesses that had made up the perimeter.

Nala and Simba nodded, they agreed as well.

"Ed, Shenzi, T... anything different?"

"Naw," said Shenzi, "but damn, Freak... dis place freaks me out... uh, no pun intended," she said, earning herself a few grins.

"Why is that?" asked the li-tigon, but T answered.

"It's 'cause there's nothin' alive... no prey, no predators... oh yeah! Ed said he smelled something... lions. I sorta did, too, but it's like they just passed through and kept goin' north. It's worth checking out."

Freak nodded, he trusted the judgment of his troops.

"Tomorrow. For now, we need to figure out how to live in the Lower Plains... we'll have to use this land as a base, and be as familiar with it as we are with the Jungle, or the Pride Lands. So... unless we get lucky, we'll have to go without food for tonight."

There were no groans or complaints, just a silent, disappointed sigh that made Freak feel guilty nonetheless.

"_The next chance I get, I'll let them eat properly."_

"I want a three man patrol, two hundred yards from the rest of us at all times. Sleep in deep cover... we'll be avoiding engagements at all costs. And don't look so sad... we'll be in the Bloody Shadows by tomorrow night."

"_Then, there will be plenty to look sad for."_

* * *

(The Kraken by Hans Zimmer from Pirates of the Caribbean 2: Dead Man's Chest OST

/watch?veN5ExwsXUiQ)

In modern botany, so-called carnivorous plants are little more than a novelty. Trapping flies and other small insects, they blur the border between acts of active predation and mere reaction.

However, this part of Africa has remained untouched by the destructive wrath of humans for very good reasons. The Desert has the only real access to the ocean, and the rest of the region is isolated by various geographical and zoological threats.

And this plant was a carnivorous predator, there was no doubt about that.

It worked alone, thank the Great Spirits for that. But it had been very, very hungry for the past few years, only able to suck random gazelles and such into its bulbous protrusions by the use of a vacuum. Its "arms" extended for nearly a mile, but could pull a prey animal that entire mile in only seconds. The massive change of speed would cause every animal this plant had ever encountered to black out. But, till now, it had never encountered lions, especially lions quite so tough as the counterassassins...

* * *

Vitani, Kiara, and T had volunteered for the first watch.

The three girls plodded along softly chatting with each another. At any time, they could stop, freeze, and become completely invisible. Even as they were, they'd be totally undetectable to all but the counterassassins, a highly-trained jungle assassin like Usiku, or... a predator.

"So... you two really think we can do this?" Vitani asked; her hopes about the entire mission had been reserved, at best.

Kiara nodded defiantly.

"Of course... I mean, heehee, I used to be such a wimp back then, don't deny it—"

"No arguments here—"

" —but after all that time in the Jungle, all that training... Daddy always used to worry about me. I thought I was invincible... but I was wrong. I'm still not, but now... well, I can hold my own," she ended confidently.

"Oh, don't be so modest," said T, after a brief moment of awkward silence, "you're strong, Kiara... no two ways about it," the hyena smiled at her friend, until Vitani spoke up.

"Yep... we're all strong... no doubt about—"

Suddenly, the darkish ex-Outlander disappeared. There was nothing that could have done it... just the regular, sinewy vegetation that plagued the Lower Plains.

Panic threatened to take over both Kiara and T for a second. But Freak had trained them hard, both physically and mentally. They'd been subjected to extreme stress before, and could now deal with almost anything without cracking.

Without even nodding to one another, Kiara dropped down to watch, listen, smell, and take in the environment. T ran off towards the rest of the Pride Landers, calling out.

"Get up! Vitani's missing!"

In a heartbeat, every counterassassin was awake and on their feet, looking to Freak, whose face bore an even more intense look of determination than it had for the past month.

"What happened?" he asked as he sprinted off to where Kiara was, T at his side, Simba, Nala, Sarabi, Shenzi, and Ed directly following him, as the rest of the lionesses spread out to pick up anything that might be flanking them, taking advantage of the distraction.

"I... dunno. She was here one second, then just gone..."

Kiara suddenly spoke up.

"There was something moving... just for a few seconds, and it was way too fast. It felt light... like it was always there, and it just had extra weight on it..."

"_That makes sense..." _thought Freak, piecing the information together.

"Freak, there's something moving over there!" called a lioness, looking off into the not so far distance.

"That's where the movement was!" exclaimed Kiara, and in unison, the entire group of counterassassins were rushing over the rugged, hostile grounds of the Lower Plains.

* * *

"I'm—not—dying—like—this," growled Vitani through gritted teeth.

She was completely disoriented, and had only barely avoided unconsciousness. Still, she was weak, and the powerful, rough walls that crushed in on her from all sides were squeezing the breath out of her.

"I've gotta... help Freak... kill Saliti... and his followers... I can't die... I can't die... I CAN'T DIE!" the lioness suddenly roared, striking out, landing long, deep claw wounds into the plant, even as she was pulled ever farther.

* * *

"She's not much farther," said the li-tigon, not even pausing to make certain that the long, oozing slash in the plant was Vitani's, he'd caught scent of both the lioness and the plant's gore and had seen it with his own eyes, that was enough.

"No..." he growled, looking all over.

The area had no trees... just large, viney plants, any of which could be Vitani's attacker.

Worse, the vine with the injury on it was entangled in a massive ball of vines, completely eliminating the possibility of tracing it. And traveling at such a speed had not been good for Vitani...

* * *

She was only barely conscious, the intense g-forces exerted on her had nearly broken her neck, and had snapped her head back hard enough to make the ex-Outlander see stars.

"No... gotta... help... Freak..."

Slowly, the li-tigon's face appeared in her mind's eye, and galvanized her enough for one final effort...

"_He said, once, that I was completely vital to this invasion... to him..."_ Freak hadn't actually said that last part... but the dusty-tan lioness knew, or thought she knew, that the high regard and respect that the li-tigon had teated her with meant he cared about her for more than because she was the stealthiest counterassassin... maybe even more so than him.

"_He never shows anyone any affection... not even his family... not even me,"_ she though, feeling a lone tear leak out of her eye, a tear that she didn't understand.

"_He's so strong... so _sad_... life in the Outlands was hard. But at least, Mother cared about me enough to make sure that I was taken care of. And now, others care about me... but it's because they love me. And I have others to care about... that I love..."_

Slowly, the li-tigon's face appeared in her mind's eye, and galvanized her enough for one final effort...

Vitani pushed out against the vine will all of her strength, catching her claws in it. The action took so much energy, and was painful nonetheless... but greenish liquid spilled out of the vine, and the lioness managed to hold herself still...

* * *

"There!" shouted Kiara, dashing over to the strangely-shaped lump, fearing for her sister-in-law.

The creme-tan lioness was about to slice apart the vine that Vitani was held in. She got as far as raising her clawed paw, before Freak caught it, holding it still as he looked harshly at Vitani's claws, the only part of the lioness visible.

"_No way... he can't be thinking of abandoning her,"_ the rest of the Pride Landers crowded around Freak to see what was going on.

"Be careful... if she let's go before we cut her out, she'll be gone. I'll grab her... then the rest of you get us out," the li-tigon suddenly cut the vine with his claws as hard as he could, and made an incision large enough for him to get his forepaws into.

"I've got her, go!" he said, digging his feet into the ground as the suction grew even more intense.

The entire group of counterassassins attacked the vine with their claws, it was far too large to bit into. Ed tried it, and nearly got his teeth stuck. Only a fast, hard blow could work...

Vitani lost her grip somewhere along the line, and it was only by concentrating fully on holding her and not letter her go that Freak managed to not let her slip away, out of his grasp forever. They still had no idea what plant was pulling the strings, so to speak.

Even for the li-tigon, the strongest counterassassin out of the group, it was almost impossible to keep his grip. He roared loudly, knowing he couldn't keep it up for much longer...

"Cousin..." said a voice that Freak barely registered as Simba's, "it's okay... she's fine..."

The li-tigon opened his eyes to find the vine utterly demolished, and the dazed, but conscious Vitani tiredly grinning at him. Slowly, he backed off, still in a state of stupor, to see his comrades, his friends, all smiling at him. T came up from his side, to nudge his side with her nose.

"Whoa there, tiger... she's not going anywhere," the hyena said, unaware of the irony of her statement... not even Freak knew of his ancestry, aside from that, of course, he was a freak.

Freak looked around once more, a smile touching his lips, before an even harsher, darker expression than he normally wore took over.

"What's... wrong?" asked Vitani, still lying down, exhausted from her battle.

"We can't stay here... the Lower Plains, I mean. It's too dangerous. How many of these plants are there? And they are the environment... we can't hope to avoid them. No... we need to go. We need to go, now. Not even the Bloody Shadows are as inhospitable as these lands... except for the assassins, of course," he said, in the type of humor that only arises out of a truly desperate situation.

"We've got to go. Now. The Shadows have to bleed... they must, or we will. Come on.. I'll carry Vitani," the li-tigon said, pulling the tan lioness's form on top of his own, as the counterassassins filed out of the jumble of plants.

* * *

The Pride Landers hadn't had the luck to run across any of the too-little prey in the Lower Plains. Freak hadn't forgotten his desire to investigate the scent of lions that the hyenas had caught, and had realized, disturbingly, that their scent was replaced, all at once, with the lingering scent of hyenas... that smelled similar to the way Usiku used to.

* * *

"How... can you feed me... lions? From Msafiri's own pride, nonetheless? Do you think I have no dignity left?" the bruised, bitten, but not yet broken Tanga said, slapping away the horribly familiar looking side of meat away.

"Suit yourself," Saliti yawned, chowing down on it, even as the feline ex-assassin looked on, feeling his stomach knot up in hunger.

"Why are you keeping me alive?" he asked, thinking that at this point, it would be better to just die.

"Because..." said the Assassin Lord, licking his lips, "that way... you can hear the report, whenever it comes... that the Pride Lands, home of the last great Pride of Lions, is ours!"

"You're crazy... there are still the Lower Plains..."

"Crazy, am I? Those incestuous freaks inbred themselves to death years ago. You know the fate that met the Desert pride... and do you know our leak into the Pride Lands, lion? Your mate... Msafiri," Saliti started grinning evily, then laughed out loud at Tanga's stricken expression.

"_No... Msafiri... why?"_

* * *

(Cargoship Flyaway from the COD 4 OST, by Stephen Barton

profile./I7vGxm6/music/t2srlxsb/stephenbartoncargoshipflyaway/)

The border between the Bloody Shadows and the Lower Plains was clear. By the time the exhausted counterassassins arrived, Vitani was on her own four feet again, and sticking close to Freak.

"_I'm vital to this mission. And maybe... just maybe... to Freak."_

"_My circle is large,"_ thought the li-tigon, _"and I'm doing this for all of us. Vitani is a great fighter, and... a good friend. But I hope that she doesn't think there's anything else. She's special to me. But so is everyone else."_

They'd spotted the Bloody Shadows's patrol from easily a mile off. But Freak had been cautious, and rightly so. Rather than just having his troops to go undercover enough to ambush the few hyenas, he told them all to go into deep cover. The counterassassins moved incredibly slowly like that... but were undetectable, even to each another. It was only through their endless practice that they knew where everyone was...

"_So,"_ thought Freak, as the patrol stopped around, over, and on him, _"the Shadows are not weak... if we'd went ahead and assaulted the patrol, those hyenas would have seen us and raised the alarm,"_ the li-tigon's harsh gaze burned holes into the sentries hidden in the trees.

"_Regardless... the Shadows will bleed,"_ he thought, finally the counterassassins started to become visible as they closed in around the sentries without a word or signal from Freak, _"It's already begun,"_ he thought, killing his mark so carefully that it looked like the hyena dropped dead of its own accord...

* * *

"We'll have to stay in the northern part of the Lower Plains for a few days. We've taken out their men... we'll see how they react, we'll know everything about them... and then, when we know what their every move is, before they do... we'll strike," said Freak, and the Pride Landers nodded, before they all sneaked back southwards.

"We can't engage them in direct combat... not until we kill Saliti. After that, the Shadows will fall easily. There will be mercy for any that give up... but I expect them all to run. And if they do, they will remain threats until they die. Assassins don't forgive and never forget," the li-tigon said with his threatening grin, alluding to a saying Usiku sometimes used.

"And after the Shadows fall... the Pride Landers can return to their home. And... Kovu will, by then, be on the good path again," Freak abruptly shut up after that.

"_So... he's still not sure if he wants to be a Pride Lander or not. That, or he's pretty smart."_

"Watch your step, Simba... plants don't sleep," Freak said without looking behind him, but somehow, impossibly, knowing that the tan lions paw was heading straight for the idling tendril of God knows what horror.

"_...Pretty smart,"_ the Lion King thought, grinning to himself, as, several steps back, Vitani watched the exchange, smiling...

* * *

(Gary Jules, Mad World

/watch?v4N3N1MlvVc4)

Freak walked on, as if in a trance. So many things had happened in the past 24 hours... he was no longer the cold haphephobe he was when he entered the Pride Lands. Now, he often found himself sleeping in the paws of other cats, though he never, ever left his mother and sister's side when the counterassassins stayed in the cave.

"_From here... two things can happen. I can change, and find friends everywhere I go. Or, things will become even worse than they were in the Jungle... at least there, I felt close to Mother and Sister. I wonder... Father said others may visit me. Perhaps—I never, ever thanked Mother. Even though she died for me... and is the only being that ever loved me."_

"_Mother... I... return your love..."_

_Freak was no longer in the dark, foreboding lands of the Lower Plains. He was in his cave. But it was different. The only remainders he had of his family, namely, their bones, were gone..._

"_This way, Mommy!" said a squeaky kitten's voice, from the outside._

_A small cat loped playfully into the cave. Freak froze at the sight of her. He couldn't place it... but she looked familiar. The baby's dark fur was exactly the same shade as his father's, and the pattern of her more visible, jagged black stripes were exactly the same of Freak's, Chukizo's, Sher Kahn's, and one other that still lived..._

"_...Sister?" the male li-tigon asked, rooted to the spot as the kitten approached him._

"_Yes, big brother," she purred, rubbing her head up against his feet._

_Freak had no words. He could only watch his sister show him the love that he'd longed for for so long... that feeling was still a rare, unattainable dream for him, like the grass on the other side, or the end of the rainbow. He didn't understand love at all, and knew how to return it even less._

"_You've grown since we last saw each other," she giggled slightly at his lack of a reaction._

"_Sister... it's been so long..."_

"_It's been a lifetime, big brother. Oh, and my name's Maisha."_

"_...My name's Freak," the male replied, feeling the all too familiar sting at the mention of his own name prick him again._

"_Son..." said a voice from the cave, and he tore his gaze away from his "little" sister to look at Chukizo..._

"_My son... my little boy..." the tigon said tearfully._

_But they weren't the tears that Freak had seen, and caused, his entire life. They were tears of joy, the kind of joy that can only be achieved with the reunification of a family, long since broken..._

"_Mother...?"_

_Chukizo merely nodded, and took a step closer to Freak before stopping in her tracks. Scar appeared at her side, smiling just as contentedly as his mate. He whispered something into the tigon's ear, and she took a deep breath, as the previously impassable distance between mother and son closed for the first time in... a lifetime._

_But before the tigon got within two yards of the li-tigon, she burst into tears._

"_My son... I'm so sorry... I tried to kill you, when you were a baby. And then, I couldn't even keep myself alive... I know you've had a hard, horrible life... but I haven't even been able to help you till now."_

"_Mother... you tried to kill me out of love. You didn't want me to have to live the way I used to... the way my friends have saved me from..." the li-tigon acknowledged to himself and out loud for the first time._

"_Please, Mother... stop crying. I've caused enough pain in my life. Not you, too..."_

_The tigon laughed once, sadly at that, and nuzzled her son, speaking directly into his ear._

"_Son... you only do what needs to be done. Never, ever have you sought revenge... and the things you've gone through would make any other being strike out in pain."_

"_But you didn't, not even once... you didn't even feel the temptation to do so," piped up Scar, nodding approvingly at his son, "your circle might be very large after all."_

"_Mother?" asked Freak, backing out of the tigon's nuzzles, "can you give me a name?"_

* * *

(I never intended to give Freak an actual name, and at this point I still don't really want to. But you guys have complained about it enough to get through my skull that our friend's lack of a name is quite disturbing, and I sort of want to take this fanfic out of the angsty roots that pulled your interest into it by your stomachs. So... I will name Freak... if you give me a name that I like. I have one in mind, kind of, that I may, but probably will not, name him if your suggestions don't satisfy.

Aside from that, I'm only three days behind schedule. Not bad, eh? You know, for all the effort I put into this, hee hee. Tell me what you think about my tastes in music, I tried to fit it to the scenes, in my opinion they work.

The big players you saw at the beginning of the chapter will, from now on, probably be a recurring theme. As to whether our friends will actually interact with them, well, that remains to be seen, but I don't really have any aversions to a battle royale.

Freak's becoming stronger and stronger, and in ways he's never known before. But things can only be so relatively good for so long... and the big players are going to make sure of that. Tanga was Damu's personal hitman. And guess what? If the big player we saw can intimidate Damu like that... imagine what his hitman must be.

Next chapter will go up when I finish it. Five reviews please, and tell anyone who might be interested about this fanfic. Until next time, this is al-Mujahid... going to do his damn homework.)


	10. Counterassassins 3: Bleeding

The Lion King: The Freak  
Chapter 10: Counterassassins 3:

* * *

(A note to readers: in case you didn't realize, this is a Lion King fanfiction. It is not _supposed_ to be realistic. At all.

Unfortunately, I will have to have some more bad language in this chapter. Also, bear in mind that even in the Lion King universe, good guys are sadly not invincible.

Does anyone actually read these author's notes?

* * *

_Chukizo's smile flickered for a second._

"_Son... you must learn to accept this. No matter what you do, no matter how large your circle is... others will always look upon you as a freak."_

_The li-tigon nodded once, and said nothing._

"_I'm sorry, my child. But that's just how things are... you might as well embrace it," she said._

_Freak thought for a moment, and nodded again._

"_You're right," he said gruffly, and it was as if any trace of affection had been wiped from him as he accepted, once and for all, that he couldn't change things,_

_To his family, however, the change was as clear as day._

"_Son... just because others will never see you for what you really are, doesn't change who you can be.."_

"_Then what's the point?" Freak asked flatly, and before his parents and sister could answer, coldly turned, and left the cave, ignoring their cries, and easily outrunning them when they gave chase._

"_No..." panted Chukizo as she and Scar lost track of the li-tigon, the former openly crying, the latter concealing his tears with some success, "Scar... what have we done? Have we created a monster?"_

"_No," sighed Scar, looking down in shame, "we've... destroyed. Our son had little as far as a soul goes before now. But now... I don't think he has any left at all."_

"_Mommy? Daddy?" said Maisha, approaching her parents, "what's gonna happen to big brother?"_

_But neither the tigon nor the lion had no answers. Freak would either be destined for greatness, or nothing at all._

* * *

Freak awoke, eyes open in a heartbeat, as he saw that in the physical sense, at least, he had been unmoved.

But the emptiness with which his gaze held as he surveyed the northern boundaries of the Lower Plains was somehow more... total, more irreparable than ever before.

The moment he rose his head, Vitani, who'd taken to sleeping at the li-tigon's side, awoke too. And she gasped at the complete lack of life, of hope, of love in his eyes.

"Freak... what's wr—"

"Nothing," he cut her off, and stood, stretching briefly before facing away from her.

"_Now I really am strong,"_ he thought, ignoring the pleas the lioness gave him to turn, to look at her.

"_I'm never going to look for love, acceptance, or friendship again. Beings may, from time to time, be useful to me in manners besides being prey. But, in the end, everyone is a threat."_

The same cold, analytical nature that had kept the li-tigon alive when he was just a cub had come back in full force.

"_I've been a fool for these past few months. These lions and hyenas... they aren't my friends. They're just with me for now because I can keep them safe. The second that changes, they will cease to care about me."_

"Freak, please..." whimpered Vitani, circling to face the li-tigon, looking at him sadly, "tell me what's wrong. I can help you," she offered, pleading.

"I told you," he said coldly, "nothing's wrong. I've just... come to terms with prior inadequacies in myself," he revealed, vaguely, not comforting the lioness at all.

"...All right..." she conceded, sadly, "but... if you ever want to be honest with me..." she stepped forward, intending to nuzzle the li-tigon that she'd come to see, over the past few days, as more than just a leader.

But Freak's eyes widened and he suddenly bared his teeth. This time, he wasn't grinning.

"Don't touch me," he said in a warning voice, "I do _not_ like it."

Vitani gasped at the li-tigon's sudden coldness. Over the past week or so, they'd gotten closer. Or so she thought. After he saved her from the plant, she'd never really left his side. They'd taken more assassin sentries out, run more reconnaissance operations...

She'd touched him before. And not just the accidental brushings that were inevitable every time too many creatures gathered in too little space. Vitani had nuzzled him, even licked him, once. Of course, the li-tigon had never returned her affection in even the slightest way. He only looked at her, as if wondering what she was doing...

But he'd certainly never rebuffed her advances like that. Whatever he said to the contrary, Vitani knew that something was wrong. Just not what...

But Freak was one step ahead of her. He knew that her next move would be to slip away and speak with the other Pride Landers. And the li-tigon knew enough about himself to understand that if they all questioned him, all _acted_ as if they cared... he might lose control.

"_Lose control of what? I have no emotions,"_ he told himself, but did feel a mere twinge of guilt

"We've done enough watching and waiting. Now it's time to strike," the li-tigon said suddenly, and Vitani abruptly closed her mouth, eying him, as if suspiciously.

"...You're right. We know where Saliti is, and the general routine of the assassins. We also know that we can kill them in direct combat—" she ended, prematurely, as Freak gave her a stern glare: she was only telling him what he already knew.

"...Shall I wake the others—"

"No. I will," the li-tigon cut her off again, coldly, not so much as looking at her.

And then he suddenly roared. Vitani suddenly felt a measure of fear; the loud combination of a lion's shout for attention with a tiger's threatening hiss. Predictably, the counterassassins jumped to their feet, and immediately created a perimeter, while the de facto core group; namely, the royal family and the hyenas, circled around Freak.

"We're attacking. Today. We've waited long enough. Any more, and they'll find us, or we'll run out of luck... we don't know how many more plants there are, or what else these accursed lands hold. So we have to make the Shadows bleed. Now,"he growled, and, surprised and even intimidated by the li-tigon's sudden personality change, the present counterassassins merely nodded...

...Except for Simba. The Lion King saw this as, possibly, his last chance to speak with his cousin. The counterassassins had been trained hard, both physically and mentally and had accepted, at least some of them, that losses were inevitable. They all just figured it would happen to someone else... and they knew that Freak had also stated, more than once, that he would personally face Saliti: the danger was just too great if anyone else was to do it.

"Cousin," he said, and the li-tigon sharply turned his head to look at the tan lion, "I just wanted to say... it's been both an honor and a pleasure to train with you. And whatever happens in the Bloody Shadows; whether we succeed, or fail—"

"That's _not_ going to happen," Freak suddenly interrupted, and everyone immediately straightened: the li-tigon had never acted in such a manner before, much less to Simba.

"We've trained too long, and too hard for the attack to fail. We _will_ defeat the Shadows. I _will_ kill Saliti. Some of us may die," he accepted without a trace of sorrow in his voice, "but as a whole, we will be successful," he ended in a tone of harsh determination.

The core counterassassins seemed to accept his sudden change of leadership style. Barely. They drew away, hesitatingly, all going to their respective positions. Vitani stayed in the immediate vicinity of Freak... but she couldn't help but feel that she was being willfully ignored. The li-tigon himself, meanwhile, felt... strange, even as he gave the one-gesture order to move out.

"_Nobody will ever love me. But that doesn't mean that I need to hate them. I am a freak, after all, and I shouldn't expect the impossible. To hate others for imperfections implicit to life... is immoral. I'll have to apologize to them..."_

* * *

The patrolling assassins were nervous. For the past few days, hyenas had been dropping dead in the southern Bloody Shadows, for no reason at all. Never was even the slightest wound found.

Rumors floated around: the Great Spirits were punishing the Shadows. There was some horrible disease going around. A predator had come to the area with a taste for hyena flesh.

The list grew by the day, and so did the number of assassin bodies. But the upper class members of the Bloody Shadows didn't care: it was just more meat for them.

Of course, some was saved for the hyenas that did the heavy lifting, after all. But it was never enough: the meager amounts of the meat of their fallen brothers and sisters as dealt out in portions so small that it only barely kept them alive. They were all mere inches from going crazy from living for months in starvation... and each night, they were haunted by horrible nightmares; apparitions that told them to kill and eat the beings that they'd grown up alongside. And each night, without fail, they'd wake up to find more of their own missing.

"Wait," said the leader of this three-hyena group, holding up a fisted paw, causing the two others to freeze in their tracks, ears perking up and sniffing around, sensing that something was just... wrong.

"What's wr—" the right side hyena was cut off, suddenly falling to the ground, gasping, and then gurgling on his own blood.

Simba looked onto the assassin almost sadly as he took cover again, whispering; or rather, manipulating the air with his tongue, lips, and vocal chords so subtly that his words were inaudible to everything... everything but a counterassassin.

"He's down. They're getting back to back..." he "said", hiding even more as the hyenas looked at him, then right past him, as he became part of the environment.

Kiara had never killed a sentient being before. And two months ago, she wasn't even capable of taking down a mere gazelle alone. But today was a new day... she moved quickly, silently, biting into one assassin's neck, several nerves, arteries, and life from it. It dropped to the ground, lifeless, and the leader turned, trying to fight and call for reinforcements at the same time—

But it was too late. Nala was _on_ him, striking vertically upwards with a single claw, slicing its throat apart, rendering it speechless, and doomed to suffocate.

Both lionesses closed their eyes, and gulped at the horrible, pleading death rasp that the dark hyena gave before it expired. Simba looked away, but Freak held his gaze on the dying animal until he was sure that it really was dead.

The li-tigon then plodded towards the bodies, closed their eyes, and then walked around them, as if indifferent. Yes, he'd killed before. And this time, even though he wasn't physically doing te killing... he'd never killed other beings in cold blood, before they were imminent threats.

"_But everyone is a threat. Or will be. So, it's morally sound to preemptively kill a threat..."_

He looked over at the Pride Landers in a manner that could only be called calculating. They returned his gaze, albeit with a little bit of guarded sadness on their faces, and seemed to pass an unspoken test.

"There will be more. Stay on your toes," he said, then paused, lips twitching, as if searching for more words, but finding none.

"Let's go," the li-tigon stated flatly, and the counterassassins faded into the landscape once again... those three kills were insignificant in comparison to the violence that would occur, very soon.

Some of them thought of how much they'd grown, how much they'd changed. Some thought of the Pride Lands, and how they longed to come home after this long, hard trip. Some thought of each another, and how they'd do anything to protect their comrades.

But Freak only had one thought.

"_Make the Shadows bleed."_

* * *

Kovu and Rafiki finally got Banzai to a stable state. But he'd required fanatic survey for a full week: it was hard. Usiku was so hurt that he couldn't hunt. Things had looked bad...

And then, the black hyena had done the impossible.

"Uvuli," he said, and his daughter looked up, "you'll need to bring some food back. Just a gazelle. You can do that, right?" the hyena cub, still referred to as a baby by the Pride Landers, but nearing the middle of her cubhood.

The black youngster nodded once, and loped off into the tall grass of the Pride Lands, and Kovu had to stop himself from rushing to bring her back.

"What are you doing? She could get hurt!" he practically yelped, glaring at Usiku.

But the ex-assassin laughed, coughing up some blood.

"No. She won't."

The darkish lion looked at him for a moment, then seemed to resign himself to the fact that Usiku would never, ever do anything that might put his daughter in danger. So he looked back to Banzai.

Rafiki was there, doing something strange... something disgusting.

"What... what are you doing?" he asked the shaman, voice trembling slightly.

"Dese infections dat are hurting poor Banzai so much... dey are deadly. Very useful in a fight, if used properly.

"So we will fight... but how? We can't even hope to reach the Bloody Shadows on time—at all. We don't know how to survive in the Jungle, for long, we'll be found, or something—" he was cut off by Rafiki's hand.

"Don't you worry. You see dese hands? Dey are useful for more tings dan healing. I can build..." he looked to the west, where a deep, threatening river isolated the Forbidden Island, as it was called, from the Pride Lands.

"On de oddah side of dat rivah lays de Bloody Shadows. Not even dere best swimmers can cross it," Usiku quirked an eyebrow at Rafiki... the money knew a lot about the Bloody Shadows...

"But, wit work, we can. And Kovu..." the shaman suddenly laughed crazily, "by de time our two hyenas are healed... you and dem will be plenty strong for Freak to want you by his side. Now... carry Banzai into my tree. He will need some divine assistance."

"What? That's crazy! How can I—" Rafiki gave him a wallop with his stick.

"Dat is not carrying Banzai into de tree," the shaman said sternly, and suddenly, it all became too much for Kovu... the way his Pride had all but disowned him, the way he was so, so far from Kiara, and now, the way this crazy old monkey was ordering him about.

He growled, and dug his claws into the ground, as if preparing to pounce.

Rafiki merely laughed, showing his largish teeth, and looked away from his patients, for the moment. Usiku perked up a bit, to see what was going to happen.

Kovu growled again, now, intending to jump. He saw a flash—

"Want to fight, cub?" the monkey said from behind Kovu, and the lion realized, suddenly, that Rafiki was not just a healer...

"No... I'll do as you ask," he said, defeated, carefully lifting Banzai onto his back, grunting with the effort, and then starting to struggle up the tree.

"Kovu," Rafiki said, firmly, causing the ex-Outlander to turn, "remember... you are heah to get onto de good path of life. And to do that—"

"—I need to carry Banzai up into the tree," he said flatly, matter-of-factly, "I know..." the moment was tense, until Kovu smiled at the shaman.

Rafiki blinked, watching the darkish lion struggle, time and again, to hoist Banzai into the small clearing inside of the tree. His determination was, frankly, awe-inspiring.

"I've had many hard missions," said Usiku, and Rafiki turned to glance at his other patient for a moment.

"Many of them. At first, they always seem impossible. But then, when I break them into smaller chunks, and focus on each part separately... there's little I haven't been able to accomplish," he said plainly, as Kovu got a paw into the treetops.

* * *

The gazelle herd was understandably paranoid. Ever since their long journey from the Western Grasslands, they'd only found predators, too many of them for too little prey.

They were down to only two females, and even these simple creatures understood that those two females, compared to the fifty males in the herd, were absolutely vital for the continued survival of their herd. But females are emotive, and have bleeding hearts... and sometimes, that's a liability.

A fatal liability.

The pained, raspy yelp of a hyena cub was heard from only about fifty yards away. At first, the herd acted as one, all perking up, readying themselves to rush. As the pained gasps continued, the males either made as if to keep eating, or run... but the two females gave each another a single look, then went to investigate.

The males instantly blocked their path, panic in their eyes. To leave the safety of the herd was foolish... but the females were going to go investigate the sound, that was for certain.

So, together, reluctantly, the enter gazelle herd slowly circled around the source of the cries. Indeed, it was a small, black hyena cub. The poor thing had somehow gotten her foot stuck under a rock, and was struggling to get it free. She gasped at the sight of all the gazelles around her.

One female stepped forward, and the males visibly tensed. But the hyena cub only giggled, then whimpered, pulling at her foot, and then gave a pleading glance to the female.

The gazelle stepped a little closer, to see if she could do anything. As soon as she was within three feet of Uvuli...

The hyena cub easily kicked the boulder that was at least twice her size away, jumped, and slashed the gazelle's throat wide open. She fell down, dying after only a heartbeat of pure, shocked terror.

Gazelles are simple creatures. They don't understand the concepts of revenge, or fighting as a group. So, when their second-to-last female died, all they knew how to do was run.

And they did.

In fact, they didn't stop running until they were far, far to the east of the Pride Lands, beyond the Falme Kindakindaki, to the dark, mysterious areas that had been unvisited for years. Beings from that place did not come out of it, and beings from outside did not go in. Well, sometimes they did. But they never, ever came back out.

This part of Africa is isolated for very, very good reasons. And as the gazelles found out, one of those reasons is about twenty feet across, flying... with a taste for flesh...

* * *

The sabretooth tiger, and many other creatures, so rare or so extinct that seeing them together today bordered on the supernatural. But they _were_ all here. Here, on the Forbidden Island. The one part of Africa where the Great Spirits had no jurisdiction whatsoever.

They circled, glancing at one another briefly, then bowed, and spoke in unison.

"Master, we come to serve."

Their leader spoke after a minute, though they didn't dare raise their heads.

"Our efforts have not gone unnoticed. The Great Spirits have found us out."

Not even the slightest murmur went through the dozen or so animals, though they knew that it was still far too early... their master wasn't yet powerful enough to directly engage the Great Spirits.

"They need someone to defeat us. Someone strong, someone self-reliant, someone that has no connections that we can exploit. Someone to arm with their most powerful weapons, someone that will never, ever abuse his power."

"There is one that may defeat us, if the Great Spirits contact him."

This time, the followers visibly perked up.

"He has no name. His past is shrouded in mystery. His father is Scar, the lion that refused to take his place among you. We know not of his mother. And his maternal ancestry is even more of a mystery, but it is almost certain that he is not of this land."

"You know that we cannot yet attack any being physically. And this... cat... he has no emotions that I am aware of. So the only way to kill him is to send him far, far away."

"I have an ally in a distant land. In a few weeks, I will be ready to banish him from this land. And the distances, and obstacles, separating him from the place he's grown up in are... impassable," the voice ended venomously, thinking of them all... the barriers at the eastern part of this land, the mountains, the vastly different terrain... the most destructive animal on the planet, and many more.

Surely, an impossible task.

"Darkness is rising in other lands, as well. We shall be victorious. That is all..." the voice faded away.

For a few moments, the followers did nothing. Then, some of them left as well. Then, some more. And suddenly, the sabretooth was the only one left.

"_If our victory is guaranteed... why has Master come to tell us nothing more than this... 'fact'? This enemy... master was wise not to give us his identity. No doubt, more than one of us would be tempted to join him."_

The sabretooth then snarled at himself. His master would restore the world to the darkness that he'd had a paw in spreading, all those years ago. And now, he had a job to do. The Bloody Shadows were under his jurisdiction... and there was something going on there, even now...

* * *

Uvuli smiled to herself as the herd thundered away. But then, she groaned. Yes, she could kill the gazelle with little trouble. But bringing it back to the others?

The black cub didn't show any signs of complaint again. She closed her tiny jaws around the gazelle's neck, as she'd watched Freak do on more than one occasion, and tugged.

"_One step at a time..."_ she thought to herself, and forced one of her diminutive paws to move... and took the first step.

* * *

"Regroup," Freak whispered, and the counterassasins collapsed their three hundred yard perimeter, and gathered, totally unknown to the rest of the Shadows.

"Report."

"Da southwestern area's clear. Just a dozen or so, all patrolling. Took 'em down with no trouble," said Shenzi.

"The southeastern part was hard. There were a lot of them, some where hunting. We had a close call," Simba said, subconsciously flitting his eyes towards his daughter, who, for some reason, looked rather guilty, "but we took them all. I'd say about fifty. No more."

The li-tigon nodded. He'd been smart to send more forces to that area. It was no larger than the the two, though... he got a feeling from it. It could be the minute difference in heat and wind pattern from that area, just enough to spark his intuition... or it could be something else.

"The south-central are was barren," said Vitani, in fact, there were only two hyenas, one each for her and Freak.

"Usiku told me that the northern part of the Bloody Shadows are where the majority of its inhabitants reside. And the northernmost point are where Saliti's strongest supporters will be... he said that for the past few years, the Shadows have been looking to expand to the north. He didn't know why, or even what is to the north of the Bloody Shadows."

Long, flat plains stretched on seemingly without end to the north of the Pride Lands. Nothing ever came or went from there... but could it lead somewhere?

"You know the plan. Split into two equal groups, circle around the Bloody Shadows's northern half, and then attack. Remember: it's vital that we're not spotted until the order to attack is given."

The counterassins looked at him, and each another, wondering if the conversation was over. No one had missed the li-tigons decidedly negative change of attitude this morning...

The li-tigon then took in a deep breath, and articulated the words that he'd been forming for hours.

"You've all been excellent comrades. You always did what I said, as well as you could. You never argued with me. Never questioned me. You treated me like I was important to you," just the slightest bitter edge to Freak's words could be heard.

""Whatever happens today, I will not stay with you," he said flatly, causing a dangerously loud gasp to roll through the group of Pride Landers.

"Why?..." mumbled Vitani, but the li-tigon didn't spare here even the briefest glance.

"My destiny does not lie with others. I can only care for myself, and remember: that's why I'm here now. I tried, though. I tried to care about others when I stayed in the Pride Lands. My hopes were misplaced... I can't bring myself to feel any affection for another," he stated emotionlessly, coldly, "and so... don't hold those emotions for me, either," this time, he looked at Vitani for a moment, "because I can never return them."

The was a moment of very tense silence.

"Let's go," Freak said, walking off.

* * *

It was hard going for all the counterassassins. To hear that the li-tigon that they had come to genuinely like was going to leave them, to hear that all of their efforts to the contrary had been in vain... it was a wonder that they weren't spotted.

Vitani, strangely, just got serious. She shoved all of her emotions into some dark corner of her mind, as she had always done, when she'd served Zira...

"_If I can take down enough hyenas... if I can save Freak's life, somehow... maybe he'll understand that things are always better, when you're together."_

It was a tall order. But Vitani was easily the stealthiest lioness in the group. So, while difficult... impressing Freak into staying was not impossible.

Not quite.

"_But I'm sure I'll get a chance,"_ she thought, waiting for three hyenas to disappear back into the forests of the Bloody Shadows before moving on, only a body length behind Freak, _"after all... there are hundreds of them..."_

* * *

Finally, after two months of hard training, untold hours of careful, precise preparation, and a near-death experience in the case of Vitani... the counterassassins were nearly ready to start their all-out assault on the Bloody Shadows.

The command was subtle. Freak raised a fisted paw, and held it out, parallel to the ground, then opened it.

The counterassassins moved, quickly, but still quietly. A large pack of hyenas approached Freak, Vitani, T and Shenzi, and the four knew that it would be advantageous to remain hidden until the last possible moment—

They managed to take them all down, quietly, though soft gurgles could be heard, barely. Freak was about to move on again when Vitani suddenly stood in front of him, blocking his path. The li-tigon looked at her blankly, not understanding. And then she snapped one assassin's neck. Freak understood...

"Be careful," he said to the counterassassins in his vicinity, "they're playing dead. Make completely sure that you kill them," he then got back under cover, and moved on... albeit after brushing past the lioness that may well have single-handedly protected the entire operation.

"_Is it working?"_ Vitani thought to herself, wondering, even if it was, if she'd ever know.

"Vitani..." said the li-tigon, from somewhere that she couldn't see, "thanks."

But his words only multiplied the questions in her mind.

* * *

Like Rafiki said, the infections that had nearly killed Banzai and even now, a week later, threatened to paralyze him, or worse, were quite malicious.

So, like Rafiki said, they could be great weapons. If harnessed properly.

Using extreme caution, not daring to touch the horrible germs himself, the mandrill had wrapped his hands in leaves and cleaned them out of Banzai's gut, which they'd had to open again... the stitches kept getting eaten through.

And now they could all too literally see why. The hyena's insides had been... changed. They'd never be the same again, for better or for worse.

Most likely for worse.

But the amount of bacteria that lined his insides was enough for Rafiki to physically scrape away... and then store in a hollow gourd.

"Kovu... bring me a piece of meat," he said to the one other healthy Pride Lander.

(note, I am aware that in the following paragraph there's probably some subject-verb agreement issues)

The darkish lion quirked an eyebrow, but followed the order instantly. He nearly vomited at the sight of the same horrible bacteria that was literally still killing Banzai, and dropped the piece of meat at Rafiki's feet.

"What are you doing?" he asked, retching.

The mandrill carefully placed the meat against the germs, and then watched them. Analytically, recording every detail of how fast they ate it... and what happened to the meat.

In seconds, the entire chunk of flesh rotted away. Incredibly, however, the bacteria did not die, and Rafiki placed the gourd down at the ground.

Another hour and a new operation later, that brought Banzai closer to consciousness, Usiku yelped, having dragged himself to the gourd, suspecting what the mandrill was doing.

"Rafiki," the black hyena said, after causing Kovu's mane to stand on end in surprise, "they haven't died!"

"I suspected as much," the shaman said.

Normally, bacteria in this part of Africa would die after only minutes without food. It was the land's way of keeping things fair.

"_Evil is gaddering in dis land. I do not know why, or who is behind it. But I tink dat tings started with Scar..."_

Rafiki shook his head. Such thinking had its time. But not now... Banzai was still in a comatose, near-death state, and Usiku couldn't even walk yet.

"Dese hands are useful for building tings dat have purposes beyond... transportation," the shaman gave a smile to Usiku and Kovu, and both found themselves wondering if the mandrill was eccentric, or really insane.

"Hey, Kovu, could you give me a hand?" said a small, high-pitched voice from several yards away.

"Huh... Uvuli?" the darkened lion turned, not believing his ears.

But he had to believe his eyes. And his eyes told him that the black cub had somehow managed to drag a gazelle here from God knew how far away.

"Yes. Now help me, dumb-a—uh, I mean, help me, Kovu," the little bitty hyena had a bit of a foul mouth, which she'd gained by hanging around with the ex-Shadow Land hyenas so much.

The only lion left in the Pride Lands rolled his eyes, in the only bit of humor that anyone in the now empty land had felt for hours.

Rafiki looked back, and saw that Banzai was starting to stir.

"_One step at a time."_

* * *

The assault was going well. At least a quarter of the assassins were down, and the alarm hadn't been raised yet, even as the counterassassins continued to circle around the northern half of the Bloody Shadows.

But now Freak and his core group had to get as close as possible to Saliti's best supporters and, no doubt, some of the toughest assassins that would be assigned to protect them.

They had a close call: again, it was Kiara. She forgot to monitor her breathing as meticulously as she might have when a large, exotic butterfly floated by, and an almost lion-sized hyena looked at her... and then right through her.

Freak looked at her, with neither anger, forgiveness, nor understanding in his eyes. He just looked at her, shook his head, and kept going. Two months ago, the lioness would have taken offense, and confronted him about it. But today, she just nodded apologetically, once, and got back under cover.

By now, the counterassassins had done all they possibly could under cover. From her on out, the lands were basically saturated with hyenas, so it would be useless to wait for a chance to take them out, one by one, covertly.

Now, it was time to go all out.

With a single, earth-shattering roar, Freak raced out of cover, slice one hyena _apart_, then engaged the monster that was as big as he was in open combat.

"_Make the Shadows bleed,"_ he thought, dodging a bite powerful enough to gnash through a tree, and moving in for a counterattack...

* * *

"Saliti!" gasped a bleeding, panting assassin, bursting into the Assassin Lord's chambers, deep inside .

"I hope this is important..." the leader of the Bloody Shadows glared at his underling for a moment.

"My lord... we're under attack!"

Saliti narrowed his eyes.

"Explain."

"There are about twenty of them. Lions and hyenas. From the Pride Lands. We can't fight them—we only hurt one when three Phantoms surprised her," he struggled to stay on his feet, referring to the giant, all-brawns-few-brains hyenas that Kiara had nearly tipped off.

"And their leader... he's neither a lion nor a hyena. He let me go, to tell you that he'll stop... if you surrender... your life..." the hyena then closed his eyes, knowing that he, the messenger, would certainly be killed for that.

Which he was.

Saliti removed his claws from the other hyena's neck with an expression of disgust. Then, he looked to two skinnier hyenas, his personal messengers.

"Give the order to hold, no matter what the odds are. Neither the swimmers, nor the runners, nor any other type of assassin is allowed to leave. The penalty is death... in the most painful manner imaginable..."

"And that penalty will be extended to every family member of an assassin that so much as _thinks_ of disobeying my command. Is that understood?" the Assassin Lord growled.

The two messengers gulped, bowed, nodded, and then dashed off, more intent on leaving Saliti's presence than carrying out his order.

"Sir... what will we do?" said two voices, in perfect unison from the shadowed parts of the Assassin Lord's labyrinth.

Saliti thought, for a moment. Even in his coup, the vague aura of panic in the air was not nearly as thick as how it was now. Now, that horrible feeling of impending death was practically tangible.

"_Going south is foolhardy. There's nothing there to eat, anymore. But the north... Father told me tales of a far-off land, rich with prey. But that's little more than legend. The last one that made the journey there and back was my great-grandfather. By now, that land could be just as barren as the south..."_

"_But still... our chances are better if we go north. We'll have to cut around the fighting, however..."_

"We're getting out of here. The Shadows may bleed... but I won't."

* * *

Freak was a powerful, smart fighter.

But his strongest asset was that he was completely ruthless, and had no qualms with using any means necessary to win. He'd hide from his opponent in the middle of a fight, circle around them, and then strike at their unsuspecting backs. He'd notice the telltale widened eyes of a hyena, and then use the dead, or sometimes living body of his opponent's loved one to gain an advantage. The only dirty trick he didn't employ was using another counterassassin to take a hit for him.

And so the li-tigon had two or three scratches on him, which he barely registered. Some other counterassassins weren't harmed at all, a few were bleeding enough to sap at their energy, but for the most part, they had suffered no damage to speak of.

Except for Sarabi. She'd been taken off-guard by three of the giant hyenas, attacked as she was finishing off the strongest of a dozen trained assassins. A fair fight would be two of these unnaturally large hyenas versus one counterassassin. But that one excess Phantom made all the difference...

The old, ex-matriarch had fought as hard as she could, holding her ground, knowing that if the Bloody Shadows's defenders found a hole in the front, the counterassassins could be flanked... which would result in all of their deaths.

So it was only when one grabbed her by the flank, one more grabbed her by the shoulder, with the third clawing mercilessly at her side, the former two starting to pull her apart that she screamed.

Simba was first on the scene, attacking the one on his mother's flank. But the Phantom that was attacking her side took him off guard as well, knocking him on his feet.

Incredibly, Freak felt a rush of panic, the same feeling he always got when in extreme danger... though he was winning his own fight easily.

Pragmatism told him to write Sarabi off, by the time the two Phantoms killed her, the third would have been taken down by Simba, the only other counterassassin close enough to help, and then, he could finish those to, while Freak ensured that they weren't flanked...

But if he went to go and help her, the risk of being flanked was very, very high...

But the li-tigon just growled, finishing off his two last hyenas, and took the chance that the Shadows were going attack in waves. As quickly as he could, he raced over to the scene—

Simba had, by now, pinned the Phantom to the ground and was working on breaking its back. Too slow.

The giant hyena on Sarabi's shoulder suddenly broke off, howling in pain. And it was clear why.

Freak had dived, bit _through_ one of its rear legs and come to a rest underneath it, and was gutting it with his claws. The Phantom groaned in agony, tried to counter with a powerful paw which was easily intercepted by Freak's own. And then, the freakishly large hyena dropped, its collapse to the ground preceded by the sloshing out of its innards.

Sarabi then turned, the pressure on her changing entirely, and used the other Phantom's pull against him.

She hopped off the ground, allowing herself to be tossed through the air by her flank, a respectable chunk of it tearing out as she flew through the air. But the lioness managed to land on the tree, then spring off of it, directly back at her attacker...

Sarabi tore his neck open with her claws before she fell. She was bleeding, a lot. But if she stayed still, she'd be fine; she could even hold her own long enough for help to come. Because Freak promised to himself, then and there, that any time a counterassassin required help, he'd be there for them.

"_After all, the more I help them, the less likely they'll be to turn on me in the middle of all this,"_ he justified to himself, knowing, on some level, that that wasn't true at all.

"Simba," the li-tigon addressed his cousin, just as the former decapitated his enemy with one quick yank of his jaws, "the mountain is not far. Usiku said that's where Saliti is."

"But something's not right... he would either come and confront us with full strength, or sound a retreat. ...Our advance is going well. But slow..." Freak suddenly growled, cursing himself for not seeing it before.

"He's running. Leaders like that are always cowards," the li-tigon's mind flickered to the way his father died for a second.

"They're not fighting wisely. If they grouped up and attacked as packs, more of them would be able to escape. If they sincerely tried to win, and attacked us as one... we'd win, but things would be far, far quicker..."

Simba growled to himself as well. If Saliti escaped, alive, all of their efforts would be for naught. There was only one Bloody Shadows. But they weren't the only assassin corps in the world...

"Take Kiara and T. You three are the fastest group that we can afford to send. Scout around the northern part of the jungle, the part that we just conquered, until something happens."

"Something?"

"The rest of us die, we find and kill Saliti, or you find Saliti. If you find him, stop his retreat, and send someone back to notify the rest of us. Go!" Freak suddenly shouted, knowing that they were running out of time.

Simba nodded once, knowing the urgency of the situation. But during the cousins's relatively long conversation... their greatest fear had all but been realized.

All at once, the Lion King was blindsided by at least two dozen tough assassins. Growling, he managed to evade more than a few painful claw wounds, and turned to fight.

"No time, get going!" Freak side, jumping in between his cousin and the assassins.

Simba paused, then took off. He spared once glance behind him to see something he'd considered, until then, impossible.

"_We were taught to fight multiple opponents at once. And we were taught that when there were too many to fight, concentrate on one at a time. One step at a time, he always said."_

"_But cousin,"_ Simba scoffed, altering his path to head off to where his daughter and T were, _"two dozen hyenas at once?"_

* * *

The counterassassins still hadn't suffered any loses. Yet. True, they'd had more than a few close calls: gaps in their front that had gone unnoticed, sudden, intense assaults... but still, Sarabi was the worst off of the bunch. And already, her bleeding was abetting.

"_This isn't getting any easier. I figured that by now, we'd be able to convince some to surrender..."_

Every chance they got, the Pride Landers would pause, and offer the attacking hyenas a chance to surrender. And every chance _they_ got, the assassins would take advantage of that split-second of hesitation.

It was obvious that, for whatever reason, the Shadows would _not_ surrender. Freak suspected that they feared that Saliti's revenge on their loved ones would be far worse than anything these invaders would do.

"_I understand the logic,"_ the li-tigon thought, tearing a hyena's ribs out, _"but if all of them die, the result is the same. Though... we kill relatively cleanly,"_ he ignored the assassin's pleas to kill him quickly, knowing that he would bleed out anyway... there were other threats that required his attention.

However, some hyenas weren't quite as one-dimensional as others.

* * *

"Look, we can all escape if we just go!" seethed a young male.

This group, three-dozen strong plus a Phantom, had managed to sneak past the counterassassins's front when Simba was speaking with Freak. And now, they had the chance to leave the Bloody Shadows, once and for all.

"Where will we go?" asked the Phantom, whimpering: Saliti had trained these giants to be ruthless and simple.

Which they were. In combat.

But underneath that tough, grotesque exterior, most of the giant hyenas truly were simple. The reason they were such good fighters was that they saw combat as play. And when they were assigned to kill beings, elephants, rogue bands of hyenas, and feline intruders from the far west, they thought when their prey stopped moving... the game was over.

But there was nothing playful about the way this one had watched Freak tear apart his good friend, a Phantom he'd trained with since cubhood. And for the first time in his life... the Phantom understood the sacredness of life.

"Anywhere but here!" the same hyena said, glaring at the Phantom; he didn't trust their kind, not after one of the giants had killed his brother in a "game".

"No," said one middle-aged, toughened female, "even if we leave this land... we don't know where to go. And no place is welcome to a pack of assassins. ...Besides, we all still have family that live. How could we go on to live, even if we managed to escape, with the knowledge that we sacrificed them... for us?" she asked this with amazingly little feeling in her voice... she'd learned, after a long, hard life under many rulers that emotions were things best kept hidden.

The male looked around, trying to find support for his cause... and failing.

"...Fine, you bitch. Go back and die, for all I care," he snarled, then started to run.

"Sorry," she said, placing a paw on the base of his neck, "I don't tolerate treachery," she extended her claws, piercing into his flesh and killing him instantly.

"Their leader is strong," she said, removing her claws and licking them clean, as the male's body slumped, lifeless, to the ground, "but there are three dozen of us... including a Phantom," she looked kindly up at the giant hyena; a true leader knew the art of manipulation, "and surely, such a big, strong hyena can find in him the courage to avenge his friend?" now her voice took on a challenging tone.

The Phantom growled, claws extending automatically.

"Be silent," the de facto leader said, turning away haughtily, "we'll have to take him off guard... it is well that most of us specialize in stealth... the art of striking at your enemy's back..." she hid herself nearly as well as the counterassassins were able to... and in the heat of combat, Freak would never notice their assault until it was too late.

"Let's move. The lives of our families... rest solely upon our backs..." she said softly, watching as her mate's side was ripped utterly out of his chest.

The Shadows were bleeding.

* * *

Kiara, Simba, and T raced through the northern Bloody Shadows. They had no time to get under cover and take Saliti off-guard: they'd never be able to lay a paw on Saliti without his guards reacting first... the stories Usiku told of those two hyenas... coming from any other source, they'd be mere fantasy.

"_But then... the things we've learned to do in these past two months... they border on the supernatural," _thought the Lion King.

"_We Pride Landers have the most knowledge of the Great Spirits. Father once told me of a legend..."_

"_I don't remember it word for word. But he said that when the land suffers, a being will be chosen by the Spirits to restore balance."_

"_Could it be... Freak?"_

* * *

"Freeze," said one of Saliti's bodyguards.

This was the only time that the Assassin Lord would heed the word of another.

"What is it?" asked Kivuli's student, or, as he was referred to by his detractors, the Usurper of the Bloody Shadows.

"We are pursued," growled the other bodyguard, and within a second, all three hyenas were running at top speed.

Hyenas are genetically predisposed to not being great sprinters, unlike their traditional rivals, big cats. In other words, a cat will beat a hyena in contests of speed in distances less than five miles. Beyond that, the hyena will pull ahead.

But counterassassins are a different thing altogether.

"What's following us?" panted Saliti after ten miles, ten miles in which their lead had gradually decreased with each step.

"Two lions. One hyena. Not an assassin," said one bodyguard, not even winded by the run.

"Then we can take them," growled Saliti, stopping, causing his protectors to halt as well, looking at him strangely.

"With respect, my lord—"

"Be silent," the Usurper ordered, "we can take them. I will stand in the open... prepare an ambush."

It was the most cliched, failure-prone tactic ever. Saliti might have been the brains behind the coup that overthrew his father... but when it came to micromanagement, the Assassin Lord's ego would be his own undoing.

"We hear and obey," the two bodyguards said, their brainwashing taking over as they concealed themselves more thoroughly than many counterassassins were capable of.

"Then hear this..." said Saliti, looking coldly at the direction from which his assailants would come, "when this is all over... after we defeat the assailants... after we escape to the north... we will contact a group much like our own, in a land far off."

"We have never spoken to them directly. But ten generations ago... we came in contact with them. They are much like us... and the Shadows of the world know no bounds. We will take this land back..." Saliti growled, then chuckled, then laughed loudly, maniacally.

Invisible to anything in the physical realm, the sabretooth watched.

"_My master _is_ wise... evil is growing in this land. And in the rest of the world..."_

* * *

(sorry, more bad language)

The three counterassassins charged with finding Saliti ran on at that same breakneck speed. And then they slowed—

Instinctively, they knew that they had found their quarry. That conceited arrogance with which he sat in plain view, eyes showing neither fear nor real interest, that horrible, malicious aura that threatened to engulf any being that got too close...

"I can see why Usiku left," Kiara growled.

"Yeah... you bastard... your people are _dying_ for you by the hundreds. And you won't relieve them of their suffering, and you won't even acknowledge them... fuck you..." sneered T, in barely restrained rage.

"Watch your mouth, _bitch_," Saliti spat, smirking to himself; for all his faults in squad-based combat, he knew that beings were more prone to mistakes when angry, "or your suffering will exceed that of your friends," he sneered arrogantly.

Simba roared, his daughter joining in a split second later.

"Do you really think you can still win?" the tan lion growled, stepping closer to the Assassin Lord, flanked by the two female counterassassins, "Our friends will be able to hold off reinforcements. And you're hopelessly outnumbered. Do you surrender?" Simba demanded, though he already knew the answer.

The rebuttal came in the form of a single digit pointed skywards. Saliti's eyes gleamed as he saw the last bit of the counterassassins's reason leave them... this battle was already won.

"Go," Simba grumbled to Kiara.

Neither the Lion King, Kiara, nor T had lost their wits as completely as it appeared. They all knew that they were walking into an ambush or a trap, or something... but if they could let Saliti think he had the upper hand for as long as possible...

Luckily, the bodyguards engaged Simba and T first, diving out of cover, claws slashing. The two assaulted counterassassins managed to block... but this would not be an easy fight, even if they were just trying to hold Saliti back.

"Go!" Simba roared, taking a blow to his shoulder.

Kiara didn't hesitate before scampering off, knowing that the quicker she got back-up, the more likely her father would be to survive. T's bodyguard growled, making as if to pursue the lioness.

"Leave her," Saliti said coldly, audible over the clash of claws and teeth, "by the time she returns... they'll both be dead..." the Assassin Lord chuckled, seeing half of T's face become hidden behind a curtain of blood.

* * *

Freak was sweating heavily by now. More than one long, superficial claw wound adorned his frame. He was far from exhaustion, but if things kept going like this, the inability to move would kill him as surely as blood loss or trauma.

"_There can't be many of them left. None of us have fallen yet,"_ indeed, even Sarabi had returned to the fight, bouncing from area to area, reinforcing any part of the front that threatened to collapse.

However, as the counterassassins closed in on the mountain that conceivably held more fighters, or secrets, or _something_, the danger of that decreased. And the flow of hyenas was stopping...

"_There's something strange here. There are no cubs... and Saliti would never keep all of the cubs in the mountain. And besides the Phantoms, the Shadows have no tricks. No... they're saving their trump card for the end. We've got to keep on our guard,"_ suddenly, the li-tigon's eyes widened as he registered a presence, not five feet from him, and closing fast...

He managed to duck his head, just quick enough to avoid serious injury. Freak rolled forward, landing to face his assailants... and then he realized that there were a lot more than one of them...

He counted over thirty hyenas, plus a Phantom. And they weren't fighting stupidly, either. The assassins took advantage of their numerical superiority and circled him, wrestling him, forcing him to block, dodge, evade, taking away any opportunity to strike back with their sheer force of numbers. The li-tigon managed to avoid injury... but that Phantom was still there, looking for an opportunity to strike...

Suddenly, the ferocity of the hyenas increased tenfolds, and now wounds started to come. Freak was now fighting desperately, getting hits on his enemies. But they were never killing or even disabling blows. All of his attention was focused on the assassins—

The Phantom chose then to strike. The Bloody Shadows had no healers... but that didn't mean they didn't understand that certain combinations of herbs could drastically change the physiology of a hyena...

That meant that this giant hyena's paw had enough muscle behind it to propel it at speeds that could shatter the femur of an elephant. If Freak took that kind of a hit to the torso, back, or head, he would be down for the count, no two ways about it.

The li-tigon heard an impossibly loud crack, and froze. Incredibly, the hyenas too stopped their attack.

"_No..."_ Freak turned, dreading what he might find behind him.

There was Vitani. But she was different... her left back leg hung uselessly. But the lioness stood, powerfully, unyieldingly, on three legs. She bared her teeth and hissed, all the pain in her eyes invisible next to the rage that the assassins and Phantoms found there.

"Don't... ever... touch... Freak..." she growled, then jumped into the fray, fighting so hard that Freak could only stare in wonder for a second, before the two fought back to back.

"Vitani... why...?" Freak asked, striking downwards on a hyena's skull so hard that it caved in.

"Because... Freak... I l—"

"Freak!" called Kiara, panting, arriving on the scene, "we found him. And his guards... they're stronger than we are," she said, headbutting the Phantom so that it was out of the picture, if just for a few seconds.

The li-tigon growled.

"How many are there?"

"Two."

"...Can Simba and T take them alone?"

"No. And even if you go... I don't know."

Freak suddenly roared, then jumped into the air, twisting and flipping, to land outside of the battle.

"Vitani... hold them off..." he said, sadness audible in his voice, "and don't let the front collapse. If it does, we're done for. Kiara, lead me there... it's the only way..." Freak visibly flinched as a lioness grunt of pain was audible behind him.

The young matriarch's eyes widened, but then she nodded, wiping a tear away with a paw, before darting away.

"_It _is _the only way. But Vitani..."_

"GO!" Freak yelled, causing Kiara to move faster than she ever had before, egged on by... was that agony in the li-tigon's voice?

"_Vitani... don't..."_ but Freak couldn't allow himself to think that.

* * *

Vitani's fight was hopeless. And Simba and T's fight wasn't going much better, either.

Both the Lion King and the ex-Shadow Lander were severely battered, bruised, and slashed. They weren't mortally wounded, yet, but things were _not_ going well.

"Come soon, cousin..." the tan lion said, crouching to the ground to avoid being headbutted, then jumping up to headbutt his enemy directly in the solar plexus, gaining himself a second of respite; enough time for him to flank and slash at T's opponent.

But the bodyguard barely glanced at him... and then Simba felt his own ribs burn from a strike.

"Fight fairly," the hyena said emotionlessly, flicking the tan fur off of his claws.

Simba growled, then launched himself back into the fray.

Then, two things happened at once.

Kiara appeared at T's side. The hyena was exchanging quick but deadly claw attacks with Saliti's bodyguard, but the latter couldn't possibly keep up with four paws at once. At first, he only backed up, but then, he realized that Saliti was not twenty feet away... and holding his ground. So he too held his ground, and then wounds started to come...

Freak leaped on top of the other bodyguard, who writhed, struggling to free himself. But the li-tigon had pinned him sufficiently that Simba found it quite easy to pound the hyena with blow after blow, unconsciousness hardly preceding death with the intensity of the attacks...

The bodyguards fell, and now, only Saliti was left.

The Assassin Lord's confident smirk faltered, but he knew that he could still win this. He was horrible at squad-based combat, yes, but fighting alone was one area that Kivuli had cross-trained him in. That's why he'd been able to infiltrate his father's chambers and kill all of Damu's bodyguards alone, before destroying his father easily in single combat.

This fight was far from over.

With an animalistic yell, the Assassin Lord jumped into the air, and for a split second all _four_ of his limbs struck out, causing the counterassassins, Freak included, to leap back.

Saliti gave a dark chuckle.

"Maybe it's you who should run. The longer you fight me, the more your friends die," he said coldly, causing Freak's eyes to narrow, as he thought of the lioness that was sacrificing herself so that this fight could end.

"Neither Vitani nor anyone else will die," Freak said just as coldly; foolishly giving away the lioness's name.

"_Freak... you always made crazy statements. And in the end, they always turned out to be right. But this time... I don't know. I just don't know. I don't want to lose a sister,"_ Kiara thought; yes, she had a friend in T... but Vitani was her one and only _sister._.

The female hyena caught that telltale glance from Kiara, and gave a pleading look to the Lion King.

"Freak... at least one of us has to return, to keep the front from falling..."

"No. If _any_ us leave, Saliti will win."

"_He might anyway."_

Freak shook his head, and glared at the Assassin Lord.

"But if we kill you quickly..." the li-tigon roared, and launched himself at the hyena.

The counterassassins fought alongside him, and it took their four combined efforts to keep each another from coming to harm. Saliti was an incredible fighter. He would seem to merely dodge an attack, and then, another counterassassin would find a claw, paw, or jaw racing for them. The only they would defeat him was by exhausting him.

"_But that's not going to happen soon,"_ thought Freak, striking low while Simba jumped over him, striking high and then rolling to all fours to kick out at Saliti, _"and the longer we take..."_

He growled, shaking his head, and narrowly avoided a fatal bite to the neck.

* * *

(sorry, language again)

"All aboard!" called Rafiki, laughing crazily at his handiwork.

It had taken weeks. Kovu, then Usiku had had to haul backbreaking load after load of wood to the northeastern edge of the Pride Lands, where the river had halted travel between the Bloody Shadows, the Forbidden Island, and the Pride Lands.

The shaman had had to work his hands to the bone each day to tie the wood properly, then stitch a large leaf that Kovu had had to travel all the way to the Jungle to obtain to a mast, fashioning a sail.

But now... for the first time in history, the Pride Lands had a functional raft.

True, it's method of steering was crude, and it was only wind powered. Even then, it would take days to get to the Shadows. But Rafiki had utmost confidence that when they did arrive... they'd be able to fight off anything the Bloody Shadows could throw at them.

Kovu was not lithe and stealthy, as the counterassassins were. But he'd packed pound after pound of superdense bone and muscle onto his frame. It took a lot of work: Rafiki had told him to retrieve certain plants from the Jungle, and concocted a horrible-tasting goo that the darkish lion had had to eat nothing but for a whole day.

But after that, he had to _over_eat. At least two gazelles each day, alone.

But the end result was worth the effort, there was no arguing that.

Rafiki had been saying, for the past week, that when Kiara met her mate again, she'd be _very_ satisfied.

Kovu, who'd been thoroughly, finally cured of his darkness, only chuckled good naturedly, and replied, "I learn from the best."

He hadn't only had to carry logs from the Outlands every day, or throw himself off of Pride Rock, or carry Banzai around for weeks, getting him used to moving again, or train Uvuli... he'd had to meditate for an hour each day. And it had done wonders for him.

This isn't to say the rest of the stragglers were weaklings.

Before, Usiku had the strength of any normal lion. But now, he had the strength, agility, and unmatchable speed of Saliti himself. The black hyena trained by punching, clawing, and biting at the armored feet of elephants. He would deliberately seek out venomous snakes, enrage them, and train himself to avoid their strikes down to the point where it became second nature.

Uvuli, meanwhile, was going through a growth spurt, and was nearing her full size. And she couldn't be called a baby now, by _anyone_.

Once, Usiku had tested his daughter. He told her to scout at the northwestern edge of the Pride Lands. Then, he'd gone to the southern part of the Pride Lands, and killed himself a zebra, a treat rarer and rarer in the practically global famine that was at long last touching the Pride Lands.

A little over an hour later, when he turned away from it for a split second, he'd looked back to find his daughter eating away at it. Uvuli's sense of smell, eyesight, and hearing were unnaturally good... _super_naturally good.

And Banzai... was walking on his own.

He was no longer the joker; no longer the upbeat, fun-loving hyena that kept everyone in good spirits. He'd been humbled by his illness, and as Rafiki had predicted, he had not and _would_ not totally recover from it.

He would be dead weight in the invasion. And he knew it.

And so Uvuli had caught him on the top of Pride Rock more than once, when everyone else was away, looking down, as if contemplating jumping off onto that spiky protrusion thirty feet below.

Banzai had always smiled it off, but hidden behind that smile was unspeakably deep sadness. He knew that he was forever damned to being the weak link...

"_Th' only thing I can do nowadays... is flick fuckin' rocks..."_ he batted a rock with his paw, aiming for a next in a tree... over a mile away.

The distant, surprised chirp told him that he'd done his job, and it even brought a now-rare smile to those broken features.

"Banzai!" said Rafiki's sharp voice.

"Great... I'm gonna get it now..." the hyena grumbled, vaguely acknowledging to himself that destroying the nest was a rather nasty thing to do.

"What..." he said, not meeting the shaman's eyes as he turned his head towards him.

"Do dat again."

"Huh?" Banzai said, confused, looking at Rafiki.

"You heahd me. Again," Rafiki pushed another rock forward.

The hyena looked at Rafiki for a moment, strangely. But he shrugged, and turned, aiming for only a second before batting the rock through the air again—

And again, the birds were startled by a second missile hitting within an inch of the previous one. Not a bad grouping for a range in excess of a mile.

"I tink dat we could find a use for your skills..." Rafiki laughed, but it wasn't his crazy chuckle... it was something darker, more ominous.

Banzai found himself wondering why the shaman had been breeding the bacteria that had nearly killed him, storing it in endless gourd after gourd, even feeding it.

And then he realized...

"No waay..." Banzai said, "we gonna use germs ta fight?" he tilted his head; the idea was horribly disgusting... though its potential effectiveness was mind-boggling.

Rafiki nodded. His time in the Bloody Shadows and the Falme Kindakindaki had taught him that anything could be used as a weapon. From a simple stick, to a gourd filled with germs, to a primitive long-range biological weapons delivery system... arms win wars.

"As I said... all aboard," Rafiki grinned, hobbling off to the boat.

Banzai blinked, then followed, that familiar cockiness returning somewhat. Uvuli appeared out of nowhere; she'd been told to give the Pride Lands one final check, but more likely, she'd just dozed off in a tree... if anything happened that needed knowing about, she'd know.

The black hyena, with whom Banzai had found a friend in over the past months nudged his side with her nose.

"I'm glad to see you're back," she said, which was rare enough in itself.

But even rarer was the sincere smile that adorned her face, before she loped off onto the raft.

Banzai found himself rooted to the ground. He looked to the northeast: there were Kovu, Usiku, Rafiki, and Uvuli, waiting for him. And then, beyond that, in the Bloody Shadows, were all the others... his countrymen.

The old Banzai would have just laughed, said something clever, and moved on. But the new Banzai wiped a tear from his eye, and followed his friends onto the perilous, days-long journey across the river to the Bloody Shadows.

"_Every journey begins wit one step,"_ he thought, pushing off with the rest of the stragglers, as he looked on, for the first time in the past months, to the future...

* * *

"Alright... we are going to go in quietly. Kovu, you're wit Banzai to carry de gourds and to keep de boat safe... it is our escape, if tings go badly, and if it is destroyed, we will be cut off and over run. Uvuli, find de largest concentration of assassins dat you can. De east Bloody Shadows, according to your faddah, is where Saliti keeps general prisoners. Make sure dat you describe de area properly—we cannot strike at innocent hyenas," Uskiu nodded savagely at Rafiki's words... hanging around with what his father might call "good two-shoes" had instilled a deep sense of morality in him.

"Usiku and I will go to de north..." Rafiki refused to elaborate, and the rest of the Pride Landers knew not to ask questions.

They hit land, quietly, as Rafiki had hoped. Uvuli only needed to take a step onto the ground before she spoke.

"It's okay. The nearest assassins are two miles off, and sleeping. They're not doing very well..."

"Prisoners," commented Usiku.

"All right... Kovu, Banzai, remembah, hold de boat at all costs. Now... let's go," the shaman said, moving to the north at a speed incredible for one so old, as Uvuli headed off to the east.

* * *

Half an hour later, Usiku still had no idea what Rafiki was looking for. But he was still surprised at the mandrill's next words.

"Usiku... dis is weah we split up. I will not tell you where I am going. Just dat you cannot follow. You must swear upon dis," the shaman looked intently at the black hyena, the assassin that had changed so much about himself for his daughter...

"But Rafiki... at least tell me what you intend to do," the black hyena said, almost demanding.

The mandrill quirked an eyebrow, but decided to placate the hyena that hailed from the same land that _he_ hailed from.

"Evil in dis world is growing. I am going to check if it is all part of de Circle of Life, all part of de Great Spirits's plan fah dis world. If it is not... I may not return. You must realize dis, and promise to leave de Bloody Shadows de moment dis is ovah. De Lion King will explain de rest to you, if de worst should come to pass."

"...What explanation should I give to the others?"

"Tell dem what I told you. Now go and check de barren lands to de north of your home. Disable any traps dat de assassins may have placed dere, as is dere custom..." again, Usiku found himself wondering how Rafiki could possibly know such things.

"And remember," said the mandrill, clapping the black hyena's shoulder, "whatevah happens... nevah, EVAH try to go to de Forbidden Island," Rafiki visibly shuddered.

"Farewell..." Usiku said softly to the monkey that had cared so selflessly for him and his brethren, the most generous, righteous being in the land...

Or so they say.

('sright... Rafiki has some skeletons in his closet)

* * *

The mandrill walked on, alone, hugging the edge of the Bloody Shadows for many hours. He finally passed out of the land of the assassins, and was miles into the barren northern plains until _he felt something_.

"It cannot be..." Rafiki looked to the east.

There was the Forbidden Island, as mysterious as it always was. Simba had been too young to know of the secrets that Mufasa and Rafiki had conferred about before Scar had his little coup. Rafiki prayed that Mufasa had shared this secret, but _vital_ information with his mate, and that, in turn, Sarabi had shared this information with her son, the new Lion King.

"_I really may not return..."_

The truth was that there was a very, very good reason why the Great Spirits had no jurisdiction over the dark goings-on of the Forbidden Island. And the truth was that the dark entities that were supposed to be confined to that horrible place... were not.

"_No..."_

To any outward appearance, the watery gap between the Island and the mainland was as impassible as ever. But on another, more spiritual level, there was a bridge.

"_Dey have a connection here..."_ Rafiki looked at the "stick" he always carried with something very much like hate in his eyes.

"_I got dis from dem in order to exact revenge on de murderer of my parents. Dat one, evil act in my life may spell doom for dem all..."_

He knew that it was far, far too late to cast his stick back into the Forbidden Island, where it belonged. And he also knew that the intense pain that roared through his body was of his own doing. The last sight he saw was the terrifying grin of a sabretooth tiger... and then there he was, Rafiki, the mandrill shaman, holding his staff as naturally as he always did.

But he was a statue.

Literally.

"_Whoever this one that may bring doom to my Master is... he cannot possibly undo such dark magic,"_ the sabretooth thought, grinning, putting some finishing touches on his magnum opus.

* * *

Usiku called for Rafiki for two hours. But the mandrill did not call back. And the ex-assassin could swear that just for a second, he heard laughter so faint that the wind might have been whispering to him.

"Dad, what's wrong? Where is he?" said a voice from behind the black hyena that he immediately recognized as his daughter's.

"Gone. Let's go," the ex-assassin said flatly, and Uvuli knew better than to argue with her father when he was being so cold.

"Where did he go?" the cub asked, her head by now brushing Usiku's shoulder.

"I don't know."

"Well... are we going to go and find him later?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Stop asking questions. He's _gone_."

"...Yes, Father..." Uvuli said, her voice hardly audible over the soft pads of the two hyenas's paws racing across the ground, as she altered her path, creating a palatable gap between herself and her father.

"Uvuli... Rafiki didn't want us to follow. He didn't tell me. And so we will _respect_ his wish... no matter how much it pains us to do so," Usiku rasped, and his daughter's eyes widened... the only other time when her father had sounded like this was when they had escaped from the Bloody Shadows, so long ago...

;

"All right..." said Usiku, crouching low to the ground, as the four Pride Landers met under the cover of darkness, back at the boat.

He'd explained how Rafiki had gone... somewhere. And all of them knew that if the shaman told them to not follow in such terms, that it would probably be best if they didn't follow. There was sadness, yes. But that sadness only increased their determination to help their comrades win.

"We're going to wait here. And the minute the attack comes, we'll join in. We can't risk trying to rally the prisoners against Saliti... many of them are so thoroughly broken that they'd turn us in without thought. And we'll have to hunt away from here, so that we're not found out. It will be hard... especially with our resident gentle giant requiring two gazelles each day," Usiku grinned in a weak attempt at humor, an attempt that everyone sorely needed.

Kovu smiled, sadly, then spoke.

"Usiku... we're not going to leave this land without, at least, _trying_ to find Rafiki. I mean... he's been the shaman, healer, and spiritual guide of the Pride Lands for so long now. And he has no heir. He's irreplaceable."

The black hyena glared at the large, powerful lion, who didn't blink, back down, or take offense. Then, the ex-assassin sighed.

"Think. He said that he was going to check if evil in this world is growing, against the will of the Great Spirits. And he said that if he didn't return... that evil is indeed growing," everyone present gave an involuntary shudder.

"I don't know where he's gone, or if we can even follow him. All I know is that the best we can do is follow his..." Usiku bit back the word "last", "wishes... and pray that whatever sacrifice he's made will keep us safe."

Kovu nodded, slowly. Rafiki had explained to him time and again the importance of willful, selfless sacrifice. The shaman had said sometimes the greatest beings were not those that were brave when in the limelight... but those that worked behind the scenes, to keep everyone safe. And maybe the mandrill had joined those unpraised few...

But the darkish lion wasn't satisfied. He would indeed ask his father-in-law about what was going on, that much was certain. But maybe he too would work behind the scenes, so to speak. Maybe.

Suddenly, Uvuli spoke, tensely, but quietly, still.

"There's something going on... from the far western part of the Bloody Shadows to the northern part. There's a lot of jungle.. I can't tell exactly... but I think that a whole bunch of hyenas are dropping dead..." the cub was monitoring the temperature of the land so carefully that the relatively minute loss of body heat due to death tripped her alarms, so to speak.

"Are you sure?" asked Kovu, eyes narrowing; he knew that any mistake would doubtlessly kill them, or force them into a retreat.

"Yeah... 'cause if we attack and they ain't here, Ionno how long I c'n hold 'em off," Banzai said doubtfully.

"Daughter... you must be certain about this. Many lives rest on your judgment. Ours, our friends, and any being that might continue to suffer under Saliti's harsh rule... you must be certain," Usiku said softly.

Uvuli kept her eyes perfectly closed for a moment, concentrating hard, harder than she ever had before. And she recognized a scent so distant, so weak that it was almost a dream. Yet the identity of its source forced her eyes wide open...

"No one else in this world smells like that. Freak," she explained to the startled looks she received, "he's here. And..." she concentrated again, "so are everyone else. They're... different... somehow... I can't tell from this far away. But it's them. It's definitely them," she said, guarding how happy she really felt to see the li-tigon that she'd opened up to, before he left without even saying goodbye to her.

"...Alright..." said Usiku, soft, fatherly expression gone as the steely eye of a trained killer replaced the gentle, compassionate being that had been the black hyena for the past months.

"Remember... our goal is to draw as many troops away from our friends as we can. And to do that, we'll need to make the Shadows think that there are more of us than four. Kovu, you're the figurehead—you have to protect Banzai at all costs, because he'll be the one that will be responsible for killing most of our enemies," the ex-Outlander nodded coldly, "but the more horrifying reports of a giant, dark lion are taken to Shadow leadership, the more confused and scared they'll be. Uvuli and I will make sure that we are not flanked, and will be responsible for showing targets to Banzai. You already know how," the black hyena's eyes met Banzai's, and he nodded again, "remember, pin-point accuracy is key. I _will not_ have Saliti's 'criminals' die at our paws. ...That is all."

Kivuli's son looked around at the Pride Landers. It was not a look of love. It was a look that said: get fucking serious.

"I'm not one to give speeches or motivational talks. You all know the stakes here, the unpayable cost of failure. You all know that retreat will mean that the Shadows _will_ over-run the others, no matter how well trained they are. And so you know that we must either succeed in our mission, fighting until the cause is lost... or die trying."

"And now... we'll need to attract some attention," Usiku said, then raised his muzzle to the sky, and made the terrifying call of a hyena.

In seconds, Banzai, then Uvuli joined in. And then, the loud, rumbling roar of Kovu diminished all of their best efforts, echoing across the land, causing some of the easternmost counterassassins to pause in their fights, look to the Forbidden Island, and then brush the event off as one of the mysterious horrors that were commonplace there.

"Let's go," said the black hyena, giving one last glance at Kovu and Banzai before his daughter followed him, entering the jungle that surrounded the mountain...

"I never told you what I used to be called," he said, flitting in between the thick, close trees of the land he once called home, the land whose leader had claimed his mate, the mother of his daughter.

"What?" Uvuli asked; she wasn't being disrespectful, just quiet.

The black hyena chuckled once, darting past sleeping prisoners, his heart twinging as he saw a female his age... the size of his daughter.

"The Jungle Demon," he grinned, then jumped onto a guard, snapping his neck, then tearing his head off.

* * *

"Get ready... here they come..." said Kovu, ears erect as Banzai aimed, preparing to launch a merciless barrage of germ-filled gourds.

"Hold. It's Usiku and Uvuli," the dark lion calmed, as the black hyenas drew closer.

The closer father and daughter got, the more evident the harsh grins on their faces became.

"They think that there are a dozen of us... and that we're Phantoms," Usiku reported, "and they're sending hundreds. I hope you brought enough gourds," he shot a grin at Banzai.

"Eh heh..." the ex-Outlander chuckled, then fiddled with the raft's mast in just the right manner...

_Another_ compartment of gourds became visible, adding at least fifty to the horrifying arsenal already at the Pride Landers's disposal.

"Rafiki ain't th' only one that's handy with his paws," the hyena chuckled, before Uvuli's eyes narrowed.

"They're gathering... I think about five dozen of them. They're coming in a large pack... if you strike in different areas of the pack, you should be able to infect most of them within five gourds. And then, we'll take care of the rest..." Usiku then squashed a very, very special fruit that Rafiki had ordered Kovu to obtain from the jungle.

The black hyena then coated his paws, and then his muzzle with it. It tasted horrible, and burned... but it would mean that they wouldn't easily get infected, unless they ingested the germs. And Usiku was not like his father: he had no taste for the flesh of other hyenas. He tossed the remainder of the fruit to Uvuli, who sterilized herself with it as well.

In the distance, loud, numerous calls were heard: the Bloody Shadows would not tolerate taking attacks on two fronts. And though the assault from the north and the west was devastating... they would not let the threats to the east go unanswered.

"Now they're really coming," Uvuli said softly, digging her claws into the ground.

"It's okay," said Kovu, seeing his friends tense up, "we are strong. We have to be. Remember who we're fighting for..."

They all thought of different beings. Kovu thought of his family, and Kiara, the lioness that had turned his life around. Banzai thought of Ed, Shenzi, and T, his adoptive siblings. Usiku thought of the royal family in general, the generous cats that had given him, an ex-assassin, a home, and things worth fighting for.

Uvuli thought of someone else entirely. Her father looked at her for a moment, and had a guess.

"_If that's so... things will be... interesting."_

But the black cub's face showed no clues as to the one she held in her heart. She was, after all, the daughter of Usiku, son of Kivuli.

"Come, Father," she said, snapping everyone out of their trances, and trotting several feet away; looking at the Shadows and their approaching assassins, ears erect, "the Jungle Demons have returned."

* * *

The fight on the western front was going well. Very well. It was drawing enough forces away from the other counterassassins to make a palpable difference.

Still, Saliti's guards were tough.

T's face was bleeding heavily, but her wounds hadn't gone unreciprocated. The hyena she was fighting had a large chunk of meat torn from its underbelly, and it would be interesting to see who would bleed out, first—both injuries were sapping enough blood from the combatants that they knew that if the fight didn't end soon, both would die.

The Lion King was fighting hard, as well. He hadn't taken many serious wounds, but neither had his opponent. Worse, Saliti hadn't even been engaged yet...

But things suddenly turned to Simba and T's advantage when Kiara and Freak appeared on the scene, roaring, and attacking as if out of nowhere. Now, Saliti's bodyguards _knew_ they were going to die, and only focused on injuring the counterassassins as much as they possibly could, not even trying to put up any sort of defense.

And so before the two bodyguards fell, all four of the counterassassins on the scene had more than a little fur missing. T was the worst off, and could barely stay on her feet at this point.

Regardless, she was at her comrades's side when they started to close in around Saliti. But Freak held out a paw in front of her, never allowing his eyes to leave his enemy.

"Back off," he growled, then glanced at the other two as well.

"You too. He's mine. Alone," the li-tigon advanced slowly on the Assassin Lord's unrelenting form, "get back to the front. There are still enough assassins to flank and kill us. And... do what you can for Vitani," he ended hopelessly, then suddenly pounced on Saliti, "GO!"

The horrible, almost levitating ball of fur, teeth, claws, and blood was a spectacle that the three other counterassassins could hardly tear their eyes away from. They couldn't even judge who was winning; such was the speed and ferocity of the battle going on all around them.

Saliti was a stronger and more experienced fighter. But Freak was faster, and smarter.

"_Still,"_ the li-tigon thought, strangely calm for a moment, as he dodged a headbutt powerful enough to crack his skull like a coconut, _"this won't be easy."_

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING? VITANI WILL **DIE** IF YOU DON'T GET BACK TO HER!" Freak suddenly yelled as he noticed that the three hadn't moved... for all of two seconds.

Finally, father, daughter, and ex-Shadow Lander scampered off. They knew the importance of not being flanked... and Kiara knew the sheer hopelessness of Vitani's position. But there wasn't time or spare breath to waste words—they were flying across the landscape, intent to get back to the battle... and maybe, just maybe, save the one who loved their leader.

* * *

"You're good," Saliti complimented, panting slightly, as the two combatants drew apart, starting to circle another.

"You're disgusting. By refusing to surrender, you're sacrificing hundreds and hundreds of your people... for a fight that you will _not_ win," the li-tigon replied, mind racing.

"Is that what you think? Are you as stupid as you are unnatural, you freak?" the hyena asked coolly, "I'm going to kill you. And then... huh... you're going to die, so I might as well tell you."

"I am going to escape to the north. Far, far away from her, there lies a land... much like ours. It's separated from us by impassable miles of plains. You think that the Desert, or the Western Plains, or the Dark Forest, or the Lower Plains are impassable?" the hyena chuckled, "well... they will be nothing compared to the challenges you're going to put me through, asshole."

"Just so that you may comprehend the magnitude of our power... you know of the island to the east of where we are... the Forbidden Island. And perhaps, you've heard whispers of the horrors that lay to the East of the Falme Kindakindakai. Well... we are not one and the same. But we're related..."

The Assassin Lord then started to laugh. It was a dark, and terrifying sound, that quickly escalated into a maniac... _demonic_ cry of mirth.

Freak was an interesting being. Neither a lion nor a tiger, nor even a tigon. Orphaned on his first day alive, forced to live alone. Scarcely holding the hope for friendship or love for a few short weeks in his life.

But he knew evil when he saw it. And this... freak... in front of him... the bastard that didn't give a damn about the loss of hundreds and hundreds of his subordinates... Saliti was evil. That Freak knew.

And Freak also knew that anything he did in order to kill Saliti was justified...

"Kivuli never loved you," the li-tigon said simply, shutting the Assassin Lord up in a heartbeat.

The hyena gave Freak a look that quite clearly said how painful he intended to make his death.

"He never did love you. Usiku told me—oh, and Usiku is Kivuli's son. His_ real_ son. You see," the li-tigon ignored the angry, outraged growls that he was receiving, "the kind of love that you _wanted_ to have, the kind of love you _yearned_ to have... that's something that one can only have from one's biological father."

"_Do I believe that? Or is it just part of the fight?"_

"In other words," Freak said loudly, in order to be heard over Saliti's angry, animalistic threats, "it's something that you denied from yourself when you killed your father. And it's something that you will never, ever have in your live."

Saliti suddenly howled in complete agony, and dashed towards his enemy; rage like he'd never known before clouding his vision.

"_It makes sense, you know,"_ some part of the Assassin Lord said, _"It's why you've been so cruel... such a horrible leader for all these years. You really are evil..."_

Freak had fought beings under extreme emotional stress. He knew what to do—go on the defensive, avoid their blows, dodge, block, run, fuel their rage. Let the horrible drug of hate run its course, and then, strike down your exhausted enemy down without remorse.

Things were different now, of course—Saliti was quite possibly the deadliest single fighter in the land... for the moment, anyway.

(you'll see where I'm going with this soon enough, I expect)

It was a full hour of harrowing combat until the Assassin Lord finally began to tire. Freak had had a few close calls—once or twice, he'd nearly been knocked off his feet, and if that happened, it would have been all over. He'd taken more than one painful, deep claw wound to his sides, and was gasping for breath by the time Saliti really started to tire out.

"_My turn."_

Freak saw his chance when the hyena got his legs crossed in an attempt to get to the li-tigon's side. He merely ducked the Assassin Lord's jaws, and then sprang forward, slamming his skull into Saliti's solar plexus at just the right time—

The student of Kivuli, the son of Damu, the Tyrant of the Shadows went down. Hard. His wind knocked out of him, his muscles aching from the demands placed on them, his list of tricks exhausted... he had been defeated.

It was not a defeat he would survive.

"You... I don't know who you are..." he coughed, "but the way you spoke... you don't have a father, either... and you've never experienced a father's love... have you?" Saliti managed to rasp, beyond resisting the li-tigon's claws's inexorable advance towards his throat.

"No. I haven't."

"So... the way you've had to live... the pain you must feel every day... is just as bad as mine..." the Assassin Lord closed his eyes, as he felt the steely, razor-sharp blades rest on his jugular.

"I don't care."

"_Everyone is a threat... until they're dead,"_ the li-tigon thought emotionlessly.

He looked down at the life he held in his claws... and felt nothing. Not guilt for what he was about to do, not some comforting sense of righteousness... not even anger. All he felt was the slight tear of fur as his claws tore through that final barrier that separated Saliti from death...

* * *

"Advance," Kovu growled, after Banzai notified him that he had only a dozen gourds left, "we're going to meet up with our friends now."

The dark lion flexed his muscles, giving himself a shake, and then spoke again.

"I'll clear a path. Uvuli, give Banzai cover. Usiku, protect our flanks. And Banzai... heh... can you shoot while moving, brother?" the ex-Outlander asked, knowing the impossibility of what he requested.

"Dunno. But it'll be int'resting ta try," the hyena chuckled, sprinting forward and launching a gourd towards a group of assassins that were trying to sneak up on them.

The projectile burst, covering the assassins in horrible, green gunk... and then the screaming started, lasting only seconds, until they dropped; either dead, or as good as dead.

"Guess so," he said, awed; he'd never seen the effects of his weapon up close and personal.

"_...It ain't as bad as what I went through. At least it's quick,"_ he justified to himself, before rallying around the gigantic lion that Kovu had become.

The dark lion plucked apart assassins like they were made of straw—sometimes literally. It was true that the assassins were coming less and less frequently now, and in less and less numbers. But there were still enough of them on the battlefield to kill everyone, if given the chance.

Kovu, obviously, would not be giving them that chance.

"Too slow," he said, batting apart a squad of hyenas, probably siblings, "we've got to get to the quickly, otherwise we're going to be surrounded."

But all at once, the attacks let up. There were two possibilities that went through the four's minds, each as crazy as the other—either the Bloody Shadows had given up... or there were none left.

"Keep your guard up. It could be a trick," Usiku said, not believing it for a second—g

"Movement ahead... about a mile off. Not hyenas... lions!" said Uvuli, gasping, then sniffing harder, for something... or someone.

"Is it them?" Kovu and Banzai asked, almost in unison.

"...Yes. ...There's... a lot of... their blood..."

The Shadows had bled. But blood-letting is never, ever one-sided.

* * *

Vitani had fought bravely. Despite the grievous injury she'd sustained, she'd managed to defeat every single one of the three dozen that had assaulted Freak, plus the Phantom. Alone. Only when Simba, Kiara, and T arrived did she allow herself to fall...

Numerous wounds—deep, gouging bites; horrendous, jagged claws marks—all danced out over her frame. Blood loss had rendered her immobile... and though Simba had done what he could, the unfamiliar herbs in the Bloody Shadows as well as the lack of Rafiki; the only one who _might_ have been able to do something had rendered his paws clumsy and useless.

And now, his daughter-in-law was dying in front of him.

"There _has_ to be something more that we can do!" said Kiara, pacing back and forth in front of Vitani; her determination to be strong, at least, for her sister-in-law, defeating the almost overwhelming desire to break down into tears over the dark lioness's body.

"There isn't..." said T sadly, tears dripping out of her eyes, as she nuzzled the friend she hadn't known for long enough.

"Kiara... T..." the lioness managed to rasp, as her vision blurred.

The two females were instantly at her side, Kiara wasn't even trying to pretend to be in control anymore. The rest of the counterassassin closed in as well, forgetting to set a perimeter... all that mattered to them was to be near one of their own... to comfort her as she passed on to become one with the Great Spirits, to fulfill her last wishes.

"I want to see..." Vitani suddenly stopped, coughing up blood, vision blurring horribly as she nearly died then and there.

"Who? Kovu?" Kiara asked immediately, suddenly tearing up, realizing that... Vitani was going to die.

"No..." the dark lioness rasped, opening her eyes for the last time, "...Freak.."

"Vitani," T gasped, "Freak's... oh, no, we've forgotten him! We finished our battle, but he could _still_ be fighting Saliti! Come on, we've gotta—"

"Were you going to say leave?" said an emotionless voice from the northeast.

All eyes were suddenly turned to the li-tigon for the umpteenth time in his life. But he wasn't being looked at with hate, disgust, fear, or aversion... it was more like awed relief.

"Freak... Vitani's—"

"I know," he said, looking down at the dying lioness with... was that sadness in his eyes?

"...Give us a few minutes," the counterassassin leader said, causing his troops to break away in all directions, allowing Freak and Vitani to be alone in that bloody, combat-wrought patch of land.

"Freak... I'm so glad... you came. So I could see you again," the ex-Outlander said, managing to drag herself over to the li-tigon, and nuzzle at his paws.

Sitting, completely unmoved, Freak was nonetheless _feeling something_.

"_She... I'm precious to her. She's been spending this entire mission close to me. She always looked for me when I was alone, always saved the best parts of our kills for me... always nuzzled me, slept with me..."_

"_No... I can't be loved. She can't love me,"_ Freak thought, almost horrified at the idea.

"Vitani... I'm glad to see you, as well..." he said, not quite knowing what to say.

But he lifted the lioness up, so that he could hold her to his chest, warming her slowly cooling body.

And that felt right.

"Freak..." she said, leaking tears into the thicker fur at his neck, "I'm so sorry that I couldn't live longer. We could have meant so much to each another. Freak..."

"_No... please don't..."_

"I love you."

"_NO!"_

The li-tigon's eyes shut heavily, and he clenched his teeth.

"You can't... I'm... I'm not the loving type. I don't know how."

"...I know," the lioness said, groggily; knowing she had only seconds left.

"But... I love you anyway."

"_What?"_

"Freak... you don't need to feel anything back. Just... let me..." using the last strength left in her body, the ex-Outlander, the daughter of Zira, the sister of Kovu, the sister-in-law of Kiara, and the loyal friend of many nuzzled the one-of-a-kind abomination, Freak, one final time.

"Thank you, Vitani. For... everything. For fighting for me. For dying for me."

But she only laughed, painfully.

"You're worth dying for."

The lioness looked at the one that she loved one last time. She sank to the ground, and her hearing failed. But as the Great Spirits reached down to take their daughter into the Heavens, she swore she saw the li-tigon's lips move, and read the impossible message on them.

"I love you too."

* * *

The counterassassins, all of them, had senses powerful enough to have detected the goings on in between Vitani and Freak.

But out of respect, they didn't. They only say with each another., silently... their victory was bittersweet. On the one paw, the Bloody Shadows would never, ever threaten anyone again. On the other... Vitani was dead, as were countless other hyenas... forced fighters for a leader that they did not support.

"_And Freak said that he would leave us,"_ Simba reflected, cradling his daughter, holding back tears at the sudden loss of his daughter-in-law, _"No... he can't. Vitani died for him. So he owes it to us to stay... he owes us."_

"She's gone," said the li-tigon simply, approaching the Pride Landers noiselessly, "and now... with our battle won... so am I."

He made to leave, but found his way barred by Shenzi, Kiara, and T. They weren't snarling at him... but they sure as Hell weren't being friendly, either.

"_Everyone really is a threat,"_ he mused, extending his claws.

"You can't leave, cousin," said Simba, sounding incredibly old and tired, "Vitani... she loved you. We all know this. And so, you have to stay among us... her pride," the tan lion said, achieving nods of approval from all sides.

The li-tigon looked around, and saw that negotiation was not going to win him this battle.

"I don't care," he said simply, causing gasps to race among the Pride Landers like wildfire, "I can't stay," Freak didn't react, as Kiara, Shezni, and T started to growl at him.

"Don't you see?" he asked, looking at them with lifeless eyes, "I'm not one of you. I'm not part of any group, or family. These past months I've spent among you all... we were all fooling ourselves."

"I'm a Freak. I can't be around anyone. Especially those that I l—those that I don't want to die. I bring death... everywhere..." the li-tigon looked down, and walked away, directly in between the three females, ignoring their unspoken threats utterly.

"Cousin! Wait!" called Simba, standing strong, as he looked at the li-tigon for what might be the last time.

"Is this really what you believe?"

Freak nodded once, glancing at the Lion King from over his shoulder.

"Then... just know that you always have a home in the Pride Lands. And that we love you. All of us. We do," the tan lion said a simple, calm voice that couldn't be denied, nor written off as a lie.

Freak flinched, and seemed to shake where he stood. He roared once, loudly, briefly, the tiger hiss that escaped his muzzle concealed the cry of pain that he made.

There was nothing more to say. The li-tigon walked to the south, watched by the Pride Landers until he was out of sight, and as physically out of reach as he was mentally. Everyone felt the same amount of sadness, sorrow, and sympathy for their friend and leader... but they all knew that he was long gone.

"Well... it's nice to see you guys again," came the foreign-sounding voice of a black hyena from the east, several minutes later...

* * *

Freak refused to even let himself think as he padded through the bloody, bloody jungle, alone. The mission was successful—Saliti was, simply put, no longer a threat. And neither were any of the other assassins.

Or so he believed.

Not all of the assassins were as fanatically loyal, or as easily intimidated as others. Some had sneaked by the front, and fled to the north. Some had gone to the east. Others, swimmers, whole families of them, had dived into the seemingly depthless lake that the li-tigon found himself passing as he neared the central mountain, Saliti's chambers themselves.

"Hey... have they lost?" said the voice of an old, starving lion from inside of the mountain.

"...Who are you?"

"So they have..." the voice continued.

The was a loud groan of intense effort, then an earth-shattering _crack_. A too-skinny, scared lion with fur the shade of Kovu's stepped out of the mountain. Freak couldn't tell why... but he felt even more threatened than he might have if it was just _any_ lion.

But the old lion merely sat, and eyed the li-tigon curiously.

"What are you doing? What do you want? Who are you?" Freak growled.

"I am looking upon the... predator... that defeated the Bloody Shadows. As to what I want... that is simple. I want to see my mate, Msafiri. As for who I am—"

Tanga was cut off, as the li-tigon suddenly pounced on him, holding his claws to the darker cat's neck.

"Do you know... what she did?"

"How could I know?" Tanga asked, still calm, though the claws on his lower legs extended, "I have not seen her for years," his voice cracked slightly.

"You're her mate... well... my mother killed your cub. Years ago. Before I was born," Freak snarled, ignoring the way Tanga's face fell.

"I had nothing to do with it... but she employed the Bloody Shadows... to kill me! She nearly doomed every lion in the Pride Lands for revenge... on a being that did NOTHING TO HER!" he roared.

"Everybody hates me. I've grown to deal with that. But to threaten an entire pride... _my family_... she deserved to die. And that's what happened," Freak said coldly, walking over the lion as he continued his trip to the south.

"Wait... I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to know..." Tanga said, getting up, biting back tears as he looked at the retreating li-tigon.

"Are the Pride Landers alright? Where are they?"

"To the north... but don't bother them now. They've suffered a loss..."

A tear fell to the ground.

* * *

"Kovu!" Kiara squealed, not even looking at her mate; identifying him by scent—no, more accurately, the love she associated with his voice.

The tan lioness ran up to her darker mate, and pounced on him, nuzzling him lovingly—or at least, she tried to. But it was like running into a brick wall... a brick wall that nuzzled back.

"Kiara..." he said tenderly, and the young royal couple embraced for a moment.

And then the dark lion realized that his mate was softly crying. But they weren't all tears of happiness.

"Kiara.. what's wrong? Where's my sister... where's Vitani?" he asked, looking around, smiling at all of his friends, his family members.

"Kovu... Vitani... she's dead, Kovu."

"What?" the tank-like lion asked, backing away, horrified.

Rafiki had taught him many things. But the loss of family was a blow that could never, ever be softened.

"She's dead," Kiara sobbed, holding her mate, "I'm so sorry, Kovu."

"And... and Freak?" he asked, mostly to distract himself from his pain, succeeding, sort of—he was numb... after all, how could the sudden loss of a precious being that he'd known his whole life register so quickly?

"He left. Don't follow," Kiara said, instinctively looking around for Uvuli, and freezing the black cub with a look of utter sadness, "he's alone."

Not "he wants to be alone", or "he needs some space". He _is_ alone.

And it was true—no matter what the Pride Landers tried, no matter how they showed their love to the li-tigon that had helped them to do the impossible with his quiet, calm determination, his cold, distant professionalism... he had always been the same. Even around Vitani, he was only slightly softer... but now, with her gone, it didn't even matter.

"Simba... is Saliti dead?" Usiku asked, still in his fighting mode; at least, for the moment.

"Yes. Freak killed him..." the Lion King didn't even need to think for a second—Freak would never have returned if he hadn't successfully killed the Assassin Lord.

"Have we lost... anyone else?"

"No. It was a success," Simba said bitterly, "an incomplete success..." he turned, and looked down the hill to the clearing when Vitani had breathed her last... she was lying on the ground, peacefully, arms folded across her chest, eyes closed in a manner that suggested that someone had set them in that manner.

"Daddy," said Uvuli calmly, staring to the south; picking up just the faint smells and sounds of the li-tigon, "I'm going to—"

"No," the black ex-Assassin said, causing his daughter to close her eyes, clenching her teeth, an unseen tear leaking out of her eye, "family comes first. And we have to visit... Azizi..." this time, Usiku really did cry, as his mind wandered to the too-short time he'd spent with his mate...

"Greetings, Pride Landers," said a voice that Usiku had hoped he'd never hear again.

"No..." the black hyena whispered, looking up to see the only lion of the Bloody Shadows approach.

"I am Tanga..."

Time slowed down. And their eyes met. The lion's held no spark of recognition... but Usiku's lit up with fires of rage...

"YOU BASTARD! IT'S YOUR FAULT AZIZI'S DEAD!" he yelled, and raced towards Tanga—

* * *

"Master... even without Rafiki to train him, he is strong," the sabertooth said, bowing down low, concealed from the world inside the Forbidden Island.

"Indeed..." said the voice.

It sounded, for once, upset. Things had not gone as predicted at all—and at this stage, the Great Spirits prevented him from omnipotence. Saliti was supposed to kill Freak... but the li-tigon had done something no one could have forseen, and used _physcological warfare_.

And if Banzai ever saw him again, and taught him to use germs as weapons, a strategy that not even he had ever used or heard of, then Freak could be a very serious threat indeed.

"My friend and I come close to the completion in our plans regarding this freak. Within a week, he will be taken away... and he will be unprepared for the battles he'll find there. And not even the Great Spirits can stop us from doing that... and soon, they won't be able to stop us from anything at all..."

"Master... you are wise..."

"Indeed," the voice chuckled, then paused.

"We, too, have our own great warrior... I know not where he'll come from, or when he'll come. But I've been preparing a different type of magic for this one... and we will make him stronger, even, than the freak..."

The voice trailed off again, but the sabertooth's eyes widened.

"_Stronger than Freak... impossible... Master... are you planning for what might happen... if he _survives_ this exile?"_

* * *

h t t p : / / w w w . p e t I t I o n o n l I n e . c o m / m o d p e r l / p e t I t I o n – s I g n . c g I ? l I o n k I n g

h t t p : / / w w w . p e t I t I o n o n l I n e . c o m / m o d p e r l / p e t I t I o n – s I g n . c g I ? b a l t o 0 0 1

(Sorry, fellas, I had an industrial-sized writer's block. And I'm also sorry to announce that the next chapter I post will not be in this story. It will be a different Lion King story. And it will be about a topic that is cliched, in a thoroughly non-cliched manner. It will run parallel to this story—I'm giving too much away.

Look forward to it. al-Mujahid out.)


	11. Loner

The Lion King: The Freak  
Chapter 11: Loner

* * *

(Read the first chapter of My Name before reading this.

Also, read the first paragraph from this link, replace "period" with a period, "slash" with a slash, and "colon" with a colon. So, Freak is even considered a freak by those that want to help big cats.

Httpcolonslashslashwwwperiodbigcatrescueperiodorgslashcatsslashwildslashligersperiodhtm

I'm gonna try to switch things up a little again later, but, as promised, much of this chapter will be a regression to what made the Freak so great.)

* * *

The li-tigon flinched, and instantly spun, facing the Northeast, as if he was about to dash towards that area, and eliminate whatever was causing that... feeling... so powerful that it engendered a physical reaction out of him.

But he stopped, and turned back to the south, plodding along mindlessly. He knew that everyone was a threat... but some threats could be avoided.

"_There's no shame in running away."_

He walked on and on, so that within hours, he had reached the far reaches of the Bloody Shadows. But he didn't stop, even as dusk fell, signaling what he knew to be the most dangerous time in the Lower Plains.

"_I am weak."_ he thought to himself, harshly, _"If I was stronger, I could have saved Vitani. We could have had something together—no. That would never, ever happen. I'm not built for the family life..."_ for just a second, Freak had considered what might have happened if he'd managed to save Vitani, if they returned, together, to the Pride Lands...

"_That could never happen,"_ Freak thought, pushing the thoughts of him, Vitani, and one or two young ones away, forever, _"because I'm a freak... a loner. A weak loner, that can hardly care for himself, much less others—"_

Freak suddenly roared, and cut through the long tendril that snaked around his ankle with one powerful swipe of his claws. It was only then that he realized that he'd wandered into an ankle-high field of who knew what kind of plants.

"_If I'm foolish enough to allow myself to get into this situation... I deserve to have to deal with it..."_ he growled, and lowered himself into his signature fighting stance, cutting through the myriad of vines that snaked towards him one at a time.

"_It's just as well that I can't even try to negotiate with them. Iright now, 'm not in the best MOOD!"_

Rage twisted across the li-tigon's scarred face, and he roared again, this time, a tigerish hiss of agony more audible in his cry. Using all fours sets of his claws, he hacked his way to the densest collection of vines, and tore it apart, ripping at it with his teeth as well until green gore splattered everywhere.

Freak growled, feeling tendrils manage to constrain him by the hind legs, and kicked out, snapping them apart. And then, he knew no more, as pure, black rage took him over, clouding his senses, allowing him to ignore the ache inside of him...

* * *

Not caring to lick the fluid that was splattered all over his skinny, lithe form, Freak continued on into the night. Behind him, the plants rotted—dozens, even hundreds of them. He'd slaughtered them all without remorse.

True, they were not animals; they did not scream or call out in pain when he cut them. But still... considering the mood that he was in, the li-tigon would probably have treated a zoological threat similarly.

"_I'm a loner."_

He thought back onto all the days, months, and years he'd spent alone. He'd always felt that something was missing back then, but at the same time, he always knew, deep inside of him, that that was his fate.

And then, when he was with his... family... at Pride Rock, he felt completed. But even as he went about life with others, he knew that it could never last.

* * *

Freak froze.

It was his first day in the Pride Lands, at least, the first day in which he was allowed into the Pride Lands.

The lions were starting to plod into Pride Rock, exhausted after the long, exciting day. But Freak didn't—_couldn't—_follow. If he went in there... it would be all too easy for them to block the exit, and then kill him with suffering minimal losses of their own.

"Cousin," said a voice from his rear, and the li-tigon spun around instantly; it was easy to see that he was more than a little nervous.

"Come on... it's cold outside."

It was true. Freak was a Jungle cat, whether he liked it or not. And the Jungle was always warm. He might be able to survive a night outside... but it wouldn't prepare him well for the morning. No, to survive, his best option would be to take his chances inside.

So, reluctantly, the li-tigon nodded to his cousin, and walked in. But, despite his moribund predictions,he wasn't assaulted the moment he approached Instead, Vitani sleepily moved over to give the li-tigon some space right next to her.

Freak blinked, and then, after an unspoken urging from his cousin, to which Nala and Sarabi responded with baleful stares, slumped down next to her.

"_Warm..."_ he thought to himself, and then, for the first time in his life, slept... without being alone.

* * *

"_I should have paid more attention to what I knew to be true."_

He snarled once, storming southwards. Hours had passed, but Freak had neither tired nor looked back.

"_I can't be around others, I can't be near them. It's not good... for them. It doesn't matter if I'm looking for so-called love... if I can keep beings that I care about safe by staying far, far away... I will."_

The li-tigon's expression darkened even more than it already had, and he glared holes into the ground in front of him. He refused to let himself think again for the rest of the day—he didn't eat, didn't rest, didn't drink... there wasn't any prey anyway.

It was nightfall again, and the oasis that connected the Jungle and the Desert was only a few hundred meters away.

Still, Freak didn't go for it immediately, despite how urgently his body told him it needed water. Something was nagging at him... telling him that the last time that he'd been there, with the now-defunct counterassassins, they'd merely been lucky to avoid the Desert lions.

So he allowed training to take over, and crouched low to the ground. But he could see, hear, and smell... nothing. His senses told him that the area was clear... but then, why did the idea of going for the water invoke deep, dark worry in him?

* * *

"Remember... we are to capture, not kill."

The other Desert lioness nodded once, before they went back into the sand dune. They'd fought so hard in only the Desert that they'd changed on a physiological level—even when only their eyes peered out of the dune to oversee the oasis, now the only source of water in the Desert, they were completely undetectable.

However, being that the sand that clung to their eyes to camouflage them was genuine, it blurred their vision. It did not hurt them—it just meant that they had no idea what animal was approaching from the northwest... just that it wasn't an enemy dog.

"_Samehe... you've been a great teacher for these years. But why...? You have always told us that in this war, it's best to kill first and ask questions never. Why... why do we have to capture this one? While you, and the others fight at the South? And if this being is coming from the Lower Plains, and not from the Western Plains... does that mean... that our dear males, and their mates... does that mean that we are the only Desert Lions left?_

* * *

Freak narrowed his eyes. He could swear that, in the sand, he saw four slightly different patches... but he shrugged it off. He was just reading into things too much... and there was no point in denying it to himself now: he was tired, and thirsty. He needed water, as soon as possible. He just wasn't adapted to going without water, for long.

So the li-tigon plodded over, slowly, cautiously, to the oasis. Losing a bit of his cold professionalism, he dipped his entire head in, drank, and opened his eyes.

"_That's strange. This lake has no bottom..."_

(Yes, that's foreshadowing.)

Freak's eyes suddenly opened up wider as he heard two sets of paws thudding towards him. With a growl, he ripped his face free from the water, and spun to glare at the two tawny Desert lions that skidded to a halt mere yards from him.

"Who are you, stranger?" one of the Deserters growled, as they both moved to pin Freak in between themselves and the lake—assuming that he, like them, couldn't swim.

"...Freak..." he growled back, holding his ground without retreating... the anger that he'd felt ever since he'd left the Pride Landers threatened to return in full force.

"I can see that you're a freak," the left lioness snarled, daring him to lie again, "what's your name? Where are you from?" her expression hardened more, as she wondered just what he was.

"My name is Freak!" he suddenly roared, causing the lionesses to freeze, for just a second, in fear, "I' come from the Jungle... but I've lived with the Pride Land lions for a few months now."

"..The Pride Landers, huh..." the other Desert lioness said, looking at him coldly, "Shindani... we cannot harm him. Remember the treaty that has kept all lions in peace: it is a treaty that can only be broken if one pride does something unforgivable... and we have no reason to hate the Pride Landers."

"_Regardless of how... freakish... this one is."_

"Wait, Sikia... you, freak," the young lioness addressed the li-tigon balefully, "why did you leave the Pride Landers? Did you, perhaps, murder one of them, and run?"

At that, Sikia and Shindani both dug their claws into the sand, preparing to attack—if the freak really had done something like that, then it would be in accordance with the treaty, set so long ago, to kill him and inform the Pride Landers immediately. In fact, such a favor might rally the stronger northern lions to the cause of the Desert Pride...

"No..." the li-tigon growled darkly, in such a manner that left no suspicion that he was lying, nor any indication that it would be wise to pursue the issue, "I left them voluntarily... because I am not built for the family life. I'm... proud... to be part of their family... but I'm a loner. I can't live with them, " he growled on, even as Sikia and Shindani lowered their guard, the latter more reluctantly.

"What is your business here?" Shindani asked with narrowed eyes, not trusting Freak for a second.

"_Geez... cool down. Samehe should be here within half an four,"_ thought Sikia, rolling her eyes, though she had conveniently forgotten to sheath her claws.

"...I've come to see my grandmother," the li-tigon muttered.

"Haha... no way, don't make me laugh. No one here's old enough to be a mother, much less a grandmother. Except for Samehe, and... she only mentioned her cubs, like they all died..." Shindani said, though Sikia narrowed her eyes, thinking.

"Wait a minute... nah, that can't be right. Hey, Shindani, remember just a little while ago, when the alpha and his mates went to hide in the Lower Plains? You, Msaka and Adhabu went to protect them... me and Samehe stayed behind to hold the Desert until you guys came back. Well... she... _mentioned_... that one of her cubs, her daughter, might have lived."

Actually, when they'd taken turns sleeping over those two days, Samehe had said it in her sleep.

"My mother. Chukizo," the li-tigon said emotionlessly, "she did live."

"Is she still alive?" Shindani asked savagely, not quite registering what Samehe had elected to name her daughter despite the gasp that Sikia made, "because if so, she's one Helluva daughter... abandoning her homeland just when it needs her?"

"No, she died," Freak said flatly, "and as to why she left... perhaps there's a clue to that. My grandmother could not have loved my mother at all--after all, her name means... abomination."

Chukizo.

The abomination.

Chukizo.

Shindani's harsh, determined expression dropped slightly. She opened an closed her mouth several times, as if starting to say something, then stopping. Sikia rolled her eyes slightly—her sister was the polar opposite of her; at least, in personality.

"Poor thing..." Sikia said, and she meant it, "when did your mom die?"

"...The day I was born," Freak said grudgingly; he wasn't used to being _not_ hated on sight, and he certainly wasn't used to having people ask questions about him, to his face.

"...No, that can't be true. Because—"

"Why?" he asked, cutting her off.

"Well, because lion cubs are born with their eyes shut, because lion cubs can hardly move at birth, and finally, because lion cubs need milk," said Shindani, tilting her head to the side despite herself.

"I'm not a lion. I'm a freak," he said savagely, then walked right in between both Desert lionesses.

"Hey, wait!" Sikia said, dashing to block the li-tigon's path with her young, tough body.

"Yeah, slow down, asshole," Shindani growled, taking her place at her sister's side.

"What?" Freak snarled, he had very little patience left.

"...Uh, where are you going?" Sikia asked, not really used to having a fellow big cat treat her with anything but love.

"To see Granny Samehe. So don't bother me, or I'll hurt you," the li-tigon said, padding along before stopping in his tracks.

"...Sorry..." he said, as the two sisters looked on, one with her claws extended.

"...I'm... not in the best mood..."

"Aww, that's okay, sweety," said Sikia, walking up to nuzzle under the li-tigon's maneless neck, managing to see flashes of his stripes for just a second.

"Yeah..." sighed Shindani, rolling her eyes at her sister's oppressive kindness, "we've all got our own battles to fight. Speaking of battles..." her eyes grew steely again, and Sikia drew away.

"We're supposed to capture you and hold you. And I can tell," Shindani scoffed, "that you're no Desert cat. I don't know how tough you are... but we will be able to hold you, the only question is what the cost will be..."

"_I swear, if you assault me, the price will be _high_,"_ Freak growled, but Shindani rolled her eyes.

"Calm down, I'm not threatening you. I'll make you a deal... we'll let you see your grandmother for as long as you like... but you've got to fight alongside of us."

"...Against whom?" Freak asked, weighing his choices—in a fight against these two, he would win, but it wouldn't be pretty.

"Dogs from the Dark Forest. We're fighting with them over food... so it's not like they're in the right..."

"_Heh... I guess we really aren't, either. I wish there was another way,"_ sighed Sikia.

"...Why would I care about your little war? Like you said... we've all got our own battles to fight. And this isn't mine."

This time, strangely, it was Sikia who spoke up.

"It is. You're Samehe's grandson... a son of the Desert. One of us. It is your **duty**__to fight. Your responsibility. After all... family looks out for each another, right? And you're one of us. Part of the big, happy Desert family,' Sikia grinned slightly at that.

"_I don't know why I ever wanted a family. Families are... troublesome..."_ Freak thought, but then, the infectious grin on Sikia's face affected him.

"...Alright. But before I strike a single dog, I want to see my grandmother. I just want to see her," his voice broke, and he looked away.

The li-tigon was looking for neither love nor care. All he wanted to do was to see some one that, perhaps, was like him. But his expectations weren't high—Freak expected to be assaulted the moment she saw and recognized him.

He didn't care, however—he was used to this, by now.

"_I suppose that it's hard to accept that you're a loner,"_ he thought, utterly ignoring the way Sikia nuzzled him again.

But then, the li-tigon suddenly stepped away from the very physical female... she reminded him, horribly, of Vitani. And it caused him to grimace in pain, though that emotion was read as a snarl by the lionesses.

"All right, all right, fine," Sikia said, confused, "I was just... forget it," she sighed at the harsh look he gave her.

Shindani merely narrowed her eyes at Freak, even as he sat down, looking at them in that naïve, curious, cublike manner before licking his paw innocently, mostly to distract himself.

Freak felt jumpy, even as minutes turned into hours. He didn't trust the lionesses enough to turn away and drink, even though he felt thirsty, and every time one of their eyes met his, they'd quickly look away, as if he made them nervous as well.

So, when the distant rallying cry of a lion was heard to the south, it came as a welcome distraction.

"That's Samehe," Shindani said in a brisk, businesslike manner, diving into the sand and disappearing, causing Freak to stare, for a second, in confusion, then dawning comprehension.

"Hmm..." said Sikia, looking at the li-tigon, "you can't do that... so you'll have to follow—hey, wait!" she suddenly yelped as he dived in right after her sister, and followed him herself.

Shindani burrowed on, then her ear twitched as she sensed someone coming up on her, fast.

"_Sikia, always the playful one... fine, so it's a race, is it?"_ the lioness's lips twitched into a rare grin before she suddenly moved much, much faster than she had been.

"Catch me if you can," she challenged, hearing the sound of powerful paws digging their way through the sand, and blinking in surprise, once—her sister had never pursued her so vigorously before, but she was up to the challenge, and moved faster still.

Minutes later, the exhausted Shindani dived out of a sand dune, tumbling to skid to a halt on her side—she knew that Samehe had called them to come to her immediately... but even as one of the last five defenders of the Desert, she felt that she was entitled to some fun, now and then.

Laughing, panting, she chuckled, "You've gotten faster," before she noticed that the paws that were padding towards her were much, much heavier than the delicate step of her sister.

"Thank you," said the flat, emotionless voice of the li-tigon, "I've never tried that before."

Shindani tilted her head at Freak, trying to look _into_ him as he sat and faced away from her, not even breathing hard. She was about to say something, when a series of gasps from the north distracted her.

"Hey... guys..." Sikia wheezed, "next time... hold up, huh?" the lioness then slumped into a heap next to her sister.

"How'd you go that fast, Fr—you know what, we've gotta give you another name. Freak just doesn't suit you," the slightly younger lioness said, curling up, then twisting to her feet in a thoroughly confusing maneuver that caused the li-tigon to pause, trying to understand.

"But I am a freak. And so, the name Freak suits me, does it not?" he said flatly, still facing away from the two sisters.

"Well, yeah, but—" Sikia was cut off by Shindani.

"It can't be good for you to call yourself that... what's your real name? You know, the one your parents gave you?" the other lioness asked, looking at her sharp, deadly claws.

"They never gave me a name. My father died before I was born, and my mother was only alive for a few minutes after she birthed me."

Both lionesses gasped suddenly; they'd lost their mother some time ago... but at least their father lived in the Lower Plains, or so they thought.

"Wait..." said Shindani, after a moment of sympathetic silence, "so... how'd you—"

"I killed for milk. I killed mothers, and took it from their bodies. I didn't like doing it, but I had to, and so I did," the li-tigon said sharply, he hated having to explain that particular aspect of his childhood, and experience the shocked rage that others seemed to feel towards him for it.

"...Oh..." Sikia said quietly, "well... we understand. We've have to do bad things too," she sighed, then stretched once.

"All rested up, sis? Well then, come on... we're gonna be late," the younger female said as she started to pad away at a brisk trot.

She was shortly followed by the other lioness, then the freak. Shindani kept at least one of her ears tilted to the back at all times, not quite trusting Freak entirely. The li-tigon noticed this, and decided to show the females it was useless to take such pathetic precautions against him—if he wanted to kill one or perhaps even both of them and escape, he would.

"Why don't you trust him?" said a soft, feminine voice from Shindani's side.

The lioness turned her head, quickly—but no one was there. Sikia eyed her sister once, strangely, wondering what was going on; she hadn't quite heard the ethereal sounding voice..

"Because if he wanted to kill you..." the voice continued, from right in front of Shindani, incredibly, "then I would," that was Freak's voice, from her rear.

"Don't flatter yourself, Shindani... I have no desire to kill you. So don't treat me like that."

The li-tigon then strode right past the lioness as she stood, jaw agape, rooted to the spot for a second.

"Oh, a wise guy, huh?" she growled, walking up next to him just a little too close, causing him to flinch, then sidestep quickly, "you're not the only one here who's dangerous..."

Shindani was on Freak's left when she started to talk. But by the end of the sentence, she was to his right.

"I suppose not," the li-tigon said flatly, as if he was totally unimpressed, "I'm just more dangerous than you are," he added, as Shindani realized that he'd figured out exactly what she'd done to give the illusion that she'd teleported.

The trio walked along for another quarter of an hour, in silence. Sikia was thinking about Freak, Shindani was thinking about Freak, and Freak was thinking about Sikia and Shindani. Each time one of them met eyes with the other, the third would notice, and his or her mind would work furiously, trying to figure their relative stranger out.

"Where is Samehe?" he demanded moments later, as they neared the rendezvous point, "I want to see her, now," he snarled, though to Sikia and Shindani, he was acting like nothing more than a spoiled cub.

"She's here," Shindani said simply, as she and her sister stopped, listening closely.

The li-tigon heard something... like the sound of nothing more than a snake slithering through the grass, two hundred yards away.

"Who's this one?" said the raspy voice of a lioness, and all at once, Freak saw a cat, about the same size and weight as Shindani, though with slightly darker, baggier fur shake the sand off of her form, padding over to the group.

"He's called Fr—"

"He's Samehe's grandson, from the Jungle," Sikia cut off her sister, glaring at her once, much to the older lioness's surprise and confusion, "and he wants to see her."

"_Is that so?"_ thought a second new lioness, as she joined the other newcomer, allowing the sand to drip off of her short-furred, tan form, _"I didn't know that Samehe had ever had a child, much less a __grandchild."_

"It's true," said the relatively deep, cold voice of the li-tigon, guessing what the tan lioness was thinking, "my mother, Chukizo, was Samehe's daughter. She's dead, now," he added

"...Chukizo, huh..." said the darker lioness, _"I wonder why our beloved leader would name her child __that. She must truly have been a terrible cub."_

"Yes, that was her name," Freak said harshly, guessing, with some accuracy, the raspy-voiced lioness's voice, "but she wasn't all that bad... she did what she could to help me," the li-tigon's voice took on an almost soft, reflective tone at those words, before he caught himself, and glared at the lioness.

"Is that so... regardless... my name is Adhabu, visitor. What's yours?"

"Freak," the li-tigon almost spat his own name like it was some disgusting curse; like it was designed to forever haunt and oppress him, "my name is Freak. Because I'm a Freak," he said, then rolled his eyes, imagining the boxed reply that the two new lionesses were likely to give.

"Fits, " said the short-furred lioness in a soft, calculating voice.

She'd been silent until now. But as the li-tigon looked into her eyes, and over her tough, sinewy form that rivaled the lean muscle that crisscrossed his own frame, he knew that he was looking at a fellow predator—not just another big cat, but rather, a being who'd been born to feel the blood of prey on her claws.

"Heheh, says _Msaka_," grinned Sikia, "where's Samehe?"

"She's coming," croaked the darker lioness, "she hung back to make sure their assault was over."

"How did the battle go?" Shindani asked tensely; she felt vaguely guilty for not fighting alongside Samehe.

"Not well," sighed Adhabu, "we were not injured, but we had to retreat a half mile... and we didn't kill many of the dogs."

Msaka nodded, looking to the west for a moment, eyes widening.

"Food. Gazelles, maybe six of them."

The rest of the lionesses visible perked up at that, but none budged.

"We have to wait here for Samehe... and we can't send more than two of us, what if the dogs attack again? We'll have to—"

"I'll go," said Freak, and all eyes turned towards him.

"...We appreciate the meaning, visitor... but that doesn't solve the entire problem. Unless you can carry perhaps _four_ gazelles on your own?" Msaka asked skeptically; her absolute maximum was two gazelles—but then, she was a young, skinny lioness...

"I can," the li-tigon said simply, "I've carried more before. And they're only two miles away... I can do it."

Msaka scoffed, but Sikia spoke up.

"I don't think he's lying... we caught him when his head was completely in the oasis, but we couldn't sneak up on him... I think there's more to this kitten than meets the eye."

Freak blinked at that, but shrugged, and started to plod off towards the west.

"One of you can come if you want. Consider this a token of my g—my lack of malice towards the Desert."

The li-tigon had _almost_ said goodwill, but caught himself. He had no desire to do anything but what was necessary to see his grandmother: he'd meet her, fight a battle... and then, he didn't know what. Yes, he'd leave—but where to, and with what goal, he didn't know.

"_I could go back to the Jungle,"_ the li-tigon mused, as he heard Msaka trot up to follow him, _"or I could go somewhere else... perhaps the unexplored lands to the East. Or I could see what's to the north of the Bloody Shadows. Or... I could learn to swim better, and find out how that enormous creature managed to get into my cave, and attack Sarabi..."_

Msaka found herself wondering about the cat in front of her, as she followed him at a distance, in case he decided that he didn't like her, for whatever reason. He was walking alone, and even she could see that that was how things were meant to be.

"A rodent for your thoughts," both cats said at the same time.

Msaka blinked in surprise, and moved a little faster, to walk almost alongside Freak, though just out of the reach of those dangerous-looking claws of his.

"I was just thinking," said Msaka, "...you're a freak, right? So you can't have lived with a pride much, that's easy to tell by the way you act... so you must be used to hunting alone. For us, it was Msafiri who perfected that way of taking prey."

"You're right," said the li-tigon, and that was all.

"...Yeah. I usually am, when it comes to hunting," she replied.

There was a long moment of silence, in which the lioness waited for Freak to speak. She didn't talk much, but Freak made her look like a blabber mouth, and it wasn't long before the awkwardness of the moment got to her.

"You say that Samehe's your grandmother. That your mother was her daughter. What about your grandfather? Do you know who... or what... he was? And what about your paternal ancestry?" the short-furred lioness suddenly blurted out, almost regretting it.

There was another pause before Freak answered.

"I don't know anything about my grandfather. My father was Taka, and he overthrew my uncle, the true Lion King... and then, he was killed before I was born, and my cousin replaced him as the new true Lion King. I don't know much about my maternal grandparents... just that their names were Ahadi, and Uru."

It was true. Simba had told him all he knew about their paternal grandparents. There wasn't much—all Mufasa seemed to have told his tan son was that Ahadi and Uru were great leaders... a cut and dried answer that left Freak vaguely suspicious as to its legitimacy.

"Well... maybe Samehe knows something. She never told us about her cub, maybe she's got more secrets too..."

The rest of the trip to the vicinity of the gazelles was still silent, but comfortably so.

* * *

(Read the first paragraph of Chapter 2 of My Name before reading this)

The Eastern Volcanoes were dangerous enough—they made Shenzi, Banzai and Ed think of the time that they 'd accepted Scar's order to kill Mufasa and his son; ironically, now their beloved Lion King.

But the Western Volcanoes were, as Kiara had said, a thousand times as bad. After the Pride Landers and Tanga clambered up the steep, foreboding slope; the dark lion suspiciously having rocks flicked at him with accuracy that was significantly lower than Banzai's, they noted a simple fact.

There was no longer stable land to stand on.

The top of the volcanoes were one vast, burning pool of lava with only a few, semi-sold areas, at least a mile across. It would be on the far end of possibility for the group to pass it after resting, and eating well... but now, they were exhausted from the battle and hadn't eaten for a full day.

"But we have to try," said Nala, "if we don't get back to Pride Rock soon... we'll lose the entire Pride Lands. You know this, right Simba?" she nuzzled her husband once, to temper his will.

"Yeah. ...Mom?" the Lion King said, and Sarabi looked at her son, after glaring once at Usiku, ordering his fellow hyenas to crowd around him with a glance, just in case.

"Yes, my son?"

"...Did Father ever have to do anything like this?"

It was plain to see that the Lion King was... nervous, at least.

"Of course not. But then, Mufasa never had to defeat the Bloody Shadows. Or welcome his brother's nephew home... or accept the son of one of his most dangerous enemies as his granddaughter's mate.."

"Simba," she said in her strong, commanding, yet motherly voice, "you' have more than the strength of Mufasa on the battle-field. In your mind, you have the wisdom of Rafiki," _"...wherever he may be,"_ she thought with a pang, "and in your heart, you're as steadfastly determined to do no wrong... as your cousin..."

Simba nodded several times, looking down, as if steeling his will.

"_There's only one way to do this."_

* * *

(A note to my reality-sticklers here... there is a precedent for this. How do you think firewalking is done?)

It was one of those rare times that the lava in the East Volcanoes began to spill into the Jungle.

The counterassassins had watched, a strange mixture of terror and wonder in their eyes as the rolling waves of fire met, then burned, then incinerated the thick, wet foliage of the Jungle.

Some of the molten rock solidified on contact, but a lot continued on to burn to the very heart of the Jungle.

Trees that had stood for decades, and yet, had managed to grow up to fifty feet tall were fallen. Animals were evicted from the homes, and as smoke clouded the sky, the entire Jungle changed in one of nature's most spectacular methods of forcing creatures to be open to change—the only real certainty in nature.

"Humbling, isn't it," the li-tigon said to his emerging force.

He looked at them all, and they looked back—he'd stated the obvious.

"Humbling. Almost like nature is invincible. But if you're smart, and strong... you can defeat the illusion of invincibility that the Circle of Life casts over the world."

The Pride Landers's eyes had narrowed at that, the royal family's and the hyena's especially. Vitani, the exception, seemed to glance at them strangely—Freak had yet to lead them astray.

"Nothing is invincible," the li-tigon said softly, as he lead the group through safer paths he'd found in the Jungle, near streams and rivulets; too wet for the lava to reach.

The smoke, smog, and ash was impossible for anyone but Freak to navigate, so the counterassassins stayed close. Once or twice, the li-tigon had swore that he felt Shenzi or T, or maybe Kiara or possibly even Vitani bat at his tail. But every time he turned around to look at them with suspicion in his eyes, they merely all looked away, whistling innocently.

He'd tilt his head, not understanding, but then shrug, and walk on. The females grinned at each another, giving one another air high-fives, but quickly, they began to feel guilty for taking advantage of their leader like that... he was, after all, doing this for their own good—everything he'd done since they'd entered the Jungle had been for, in one form or another, the counterassassins.

"You see..." the li-tigon said, unaware of the natural fear all but Kiara felt, memories of Scar's bloody overthrow surfacing, at the burning ashland in front of him that the lava had left in its path, "this is, to most creatures, impassible. But if you put your mind over matter, it's not hard."

As if to demonstrate his point, Freak placed a paw _just_ above the smoking, shimmering coals that the lava's devastating path had left behind, and held it there.

"Cousin—"

The li-tigon suddenly walked, at an almost leisurely pace, across the coals. Though the counterassassins knew of his unnaturally high tolerance for pain, it was plain to see that he wasn't being hurt; there was no urgency to his actions at all.

A few moments later, he returned, and one by one, held up his sooty, blackened... but unhurt appendages.

"It looks impossible... but at first glance, so does making the Shadows bleed," he gave that terrible, toothy grin, before moving back towards the coals.

"Now, walk with me. Don't think about anything... but taking one step at a time."

"_And if we defeat the illusion of invincibility that the Great Spirits show us... we can defeat anything."_

* * *

"Pride Landers," the Lion King called authoritatively, his roar rallying his troops instantly, "I know you're exhausted, hungry, thirsty, sad, confused, scared, angry, hurt, paranoid—"

"Simba," Nala hissed and rolled her eyes, nudging him hard with her elbow.

"Oh. Yeah. ...Sorry," the tan lion muttered, and the rest of the Pride Landers gave a tired laugh in spite of themselves

"What I'm trying to say is... well, let's face it, none of us are in the best shape ever," he said simply, looking around at the group.

They seemed to accept that; aside from Sarabi's vicious wound, others were cut up some as well.

"But now, I'm going to have you do something that I know is... _appears_... crazy"

"I'm not going to say what it is. All I want you to do is follow me, one step at a time," the Lion King's use of one of Freak's adopted mottoes caused his followed to pay even closer attention than they already were.

"Quickly, though," and some of the Pride Landers gasped as the Lion King stepped towards the lava, realizing what he was about to do.

And then, all at once, Simba dashed across the burning, liquid rock. The Pride Landers all called out in protest, once, before they realized that somehow... he wasn't being harmed.

There was a second of silence, then the group all roared together, one fist, one force... and followed the Lion King through what was, to them, the smoky, flaming depths of Hell.

* * *

"Okay... how do you want to take them?" Msaka murmured as she and Freak crouched to the ground, peering over the sand dune to make visual contact with the gazelles.

"I'm not as good at traveling through the sand as you are."

"_Yet."_

"So, you go underground. I'll be watching, and when you're in position, blink at me. Then, I'll chase them towards you. I believe I could catch them all alone... but since you're here, all you'll need to do is jump up in front of them, then, we can take them down together."

Msaka nodded—it was a simple plan, and those were generally the best. She glanced at those powerful, deadly claws, and the similarly built jaw... and grinned.

The lioness then practically disappeared in front of him, but Freak didn't think of it as supernatural—the slight slight of sand towards the ground into which she'd just vanished told him just what he'd suspected, when Shindani had tried to get the jump on him.

"_I understand how they do it. But they fight, and move, differently than I do... it will take some learning before I can imitate their actions."_

Suddenly, something clicked in the li-tigon's head. He recalled how he sometimes pretended to stumble, or be off-balance in order to confuse a foe. And he knew that it had been his mother, in fact, that had taught him to do that, if only in her dying action.

"_Simba told me that in extreme situations, when one can't think but can only act... it becomes clear where he's from, what he is..."_

"_Mother really was a Desert li—freak."_

Again, Freak had come inches from forgetting that no matter how hard he tried, no matter what he or his mother did, they would always ever be what his name indicated.

He felt that old, familiar jab of pain, but shrugged it off—he had a job to do now, the pain could wait until later; it always did.

The li-tigon didn't shift, didn't blink as he watched the harsh, Desert sand for Msaka, or rather, the hunter lioness's eyes. And after a few moments, he saw those two discolored patches in the sand, just in front of the gazelles flutter.

At that, he exploded into action.

The li-tigon's paws padded softly across the sand, so the gazelle were only fifty feet away from him by the time they turned to see the dark cat race towards them.

All at once, they started to gallop away; but within a second, one was hit so hard by an iron paw that its neck broke and it went down in a heap.

The panicked animals ran on, registering that Freak hadn't even slowed down to dispatch their fellow with the powerful blow. The sound of his heavy footfalls, of the minute rasps of his claws against the sand panicked them even more, and they were thoroughly single-minded in their linear efforts to escape the li-tigon...

Msaka smiled.

Then, the Desert lioness rose out of her place, about a foot under the sand. Without even taking the time to growl, or snarl, or even shake the sand from her form, she did something that Freak could never have conceived.

It was true that the li-tigon could beat her, or any other Desert lioness that he'd met in a one-on-one or even two-on-one engagement. But this was part of the reason that he didn't want to; the other part was that he simply had no desire to fight with a friend of his grandmothers and sour their meeting even more.

If Freak and the Desert Pride, or what was left of it, ever fought, Freak would not be able to avoid injury. And the reason for that was because of the strange gait that they had: their unorthodox fighting tactics.

The lioness had leaped into the air, and Freak was completely sure that she would go for a heavy paw blow to the face of a single gazelle, or perhaps a downward claw slash. But she didn't, and Freak growled, starting to dash forward to do her job for her—

Msaka was a very fast lioness, and she had enough time to change the path of her attacks _just_ enough so that even if Freak didn't flatten himself to the ground as he finally realized what she was doing, they'd miss the li-tigon.

The gazelles, by the time Msaka was about four feet in the air, at their neck level, had started to dig their hooves in the sand, stupidly. Their intents were to stop, but their actions accomplished only two things: they clustered around the Desert Hunter, as she was called, and they sunk a few inches into the Desert's unforgiving sands, so that escape, even if Msaka missed, was utterly impossible.

But she never missed.

The lioness did indeed strike out with her paw... but it was clearly not an offensive blow, in and of itself. It's angle of rotation at her shoulder was wrong; directed inward.

The result was that Msaka started to spin rapidly, on the vertical axis. Even Freak could hardly tell the difference between her and nothing more than a spinning, levitating ball of fur.

By the time Msaka dropped two inches, she'd already turned a dozen times. So when she extended her claws, all four sets of them, she merely had to reach out—

The increase of the radius in the lioness's body slowed her down, but took nothing away from the deadliness of her attack. Blood splattered everywhere, including onto the li-tigon and he watched, eyes wide, mouth almost agape as the gazelles simultaneously fell, dead.

Msaka smirked slightly at Freak's awe—it wasn't often that anyone really took notice of her achievements. It was true that she was the best hunter, but the others were fairly good as well.

"Impressive, isn't—"

"How did you learn to do that?" the li-tigon interrupted, leveling his freakish gaze at her, the scar on his visage visible even with his eye open.

"...Samehe taught me, of course. Just like she did to everyone else," Msaka said, taking an involuntary step back before she realized it, and held her position.

"You mean that she's... stronger... than all of you?" Freak asked.

"Well, yeah... I guess she is,"the hunter lioness said thoughtfully, licking her bloody paws, "it makes sense, though. See, she never had any cubs. Well, any that we knew about," Msaka added, glancing at Freak for a moment, "so I guess... we became her children..."

* * *

"...You know... a sort of father-son... thing. ...Well... I better go get him."

A moment later, Scar was coolly plodding away from his nephew. This time, he didn't need to fake the dark, brooding manner in which he'd acted and spoken in since the day that he'd met his little abomination.

"_I wonder if she'll give me a son someday. What we'll do together."_

The dark lion's lemon-lime eyes shut for a moment as he forced himself to walk on, trying his hardest to think only of his mate, his future family, and the pride he'd forge around them. But he wasn't the perfect usurper.

"_I wonder how many 'father-son things' I'm keeping my brother and his son from."_

"_...I wonder how many father-son experiences my brother and our... _his_... father had. How many I missed out on."_

He thought back, years back, his black mane being tossed every which way in the gentle breeze of the most barren part of the Pride Lands.

* * *

"...Dad?" Taka said, not daring to even touch the sleeping King as he whispered, quietly, "it's almost sunrise... it's time to get up, Daddy..."

The young Prince then cautiously moved forward as his father opened an eye, then turned away as if disgusted with what he saw.

But today, the dark cub wasn't giving up so easily.

"Dad..." he murmured, taking the risk of nudging his father's mighty, tan paw with his minuscule wet nose, "c'mon... Muffy told me that you said that punctuality is one of the most important things that a King can ha—"

Suddenly, Taka's eyes widened. But he had no time to defend himself, nor the lack of sense to even try. It was best to just take the blow that was aimed for him...

Which he did.It knocked him off his feet, through the air, into a slate-like wall which he hit with a sickening crunch, but he took it.

Taka slid to the ground, biting back tears. He looked up, expecting to see Ahadi looking away and the rest of the pride glowering at him for disturbing their King, but froze.

Then he realized... he'd been thrown into the wrong wall.

"_Oh no,"_ Taka thought, looking around desperately for an escape... but there was none, as both his father and his mother approached.

"Taka..." Uru said dangerously, "you know not to bring your filth to the Wall of the Ancients..."

Taka knew that his name would never, ever be etched into the great stone slab along with the names of generations upon generations of lions. But still... the way his father approached him... he hadn't _meant_ to touch the wall...

"Piece if trash," Ahadi growled, extending a claw, "I'll bet that eye of your would look real nice with a claw-mark on it..."

The lion cub whimpered, and braced himself as his father's claw drew near—

But nothing happened.

"Not worth the trouble," the Lion King grumbled, slumping back over to sleep again, "Uru... do with him what you will. I don't care," he yawned.

There was a pause.

"Actually, I take that back. Try to keep it down a little," Ahadi complained, hearing the pained yelps of his son, over and over and over...

* * *

"_They were never family. But these three... they are,"_ Scar thought to himself savagely, giving a hard, meaningful glare to the three hyenas.

He didn't need to look again—he knew that they were completely loyal to him. And that's how it would always be. He'd never abused their friendship, and they'd never do the same to him. It was like a symbiosis... and soon, it would benefit all of their families.

Soon.

"_Things would be easier if I killed off the lionesses. Much easier. But no... we need them. To hunt. To defend this land, if the Falme ever rises again. Or if those... accursed beings to the south of their stinking land ever approach the Pride Lands."_

"Chukizo..." Scar said out loud, "I'm doing so much for you. But if you give me a son... I'll be forever indebted to you..."

The dark lion pictured himself, lying inside of Pride Rock, forever the defender of the Pride Lands and whatever lay behind the Wall of Ancients. Chukizo at his side, where she belonged, and a legion of the strong lionesses, now loyal to his rule, knowing that it was, after all, superior to Mufasa's tyranny planned the next hunt from their place, in between the dangers of the world and the royal family.

And then, the soft pit-pattering of a cubs feet would wake Scar up, and he'd feel a wet nose prod his cheek... and there, in front of him, would be his perfect son.

* * *

"Her children, huh..." Freak said out loud, in his normal, flat voice.

"...It's probably because my mother, like me, was a freak. What must have happened... was that Samehe threw her out of the Desert and forgot about her forever. But then, my mother survived... and had me. And to escape her pain and the possible guilt of forcing her daughter to live, rather than die, you became her surrogate cubs."

"...You should feel proud of that," the li-tigon said, with absolutely no sarcasm or bitterness in his heart.

Msaka abruptly looked up, and glared at Freak. But it was impossible to tell what was going on behind those cold, hollow eyes.

"...Come on. Let's get the gazelles back to everyone else. And then you can talk to Samehe about whatever you want," the hunter said, trying to keep cool.

She struggled to carry two gazelles, and then grinned to herself, imagining Freak having to swallow his Pride and ask for her to carry a third.

But then, when Msaka looked over to the li-tigon, he was easily striding along with all four remaining gazelles on his back, making her have to jog to keep up.

"You're strong," she noted, looking at the li-tigon's sinewy form, "it's weird, though... you're not quite at your prime age, so you've stopped growing, right?"

Freak nodded without making eye contact.

"Then... how come you're not as big as any other male lion?"

Then, the li-tigon turned to her, even as they walked along, that toothy, forced, unnatural grin on his face.

"Because I'm a freak."

* * *

"Hey, they're back," rasped Adhabu, not even opening her eyes as she rested on the ground.

The dark lioness stood, yet didn't raise her head as Shindani and Sikia awoke—these warriors knew that rest was a valuable commodity, and to get it whenever they could.

"Adhabu... come on..." Sikia said, looking at her comrade.

Previously, she'd been the joker among the cubs, always the one keeping them in good spirits throughout the war. It was due to her that the cubs had been able to deal with the deaths of their parents, the constant threat of starvation...

But then, everything had changed that one day when the dogs had managed to get a party of a dozen or so beyond the pride's lines, and assault the underground den that the cubs lived in.

They'd broken everything, and Shindani, Sikia, and Msaka had almost suffocated in the torrent of sand. But Samehe had taught them to breath through the sand... and so, they lived.

But Adhabu hadn't been so luck. She struggled to hide, but the dogs grabbed her.

No one really knew why they didn't kill the cub. Why they'd chosen to torture her instead, and leave her for Samehe to find in her daring counter-intrusion into the Dark Forest. It didn't make sense: it was just another reason for the lions to hate their enemies. It was just an act of malice that was repaid, in kind, by Samehe, to a cub that they took a week later...

"What?" the dark feline asked, looking at Sikia through the corner of her eye.

"Don't be so depressed. It's not your fault that they poisoned you..."

It made the youngest fighter in the Desert flinch to say that. It was a fact academically known that didn't often hit anyone in the gut: In addition to being horribly beaten and cut, Adhabu had been fed swamp water and God knew what else. Apart from her voice, it had forever changed her metabolism... she could only eat a few bites at a time, and often had to drag around meals for hours before she could eat it all. Though, there was one possible benefit.

In desperate times, the lionesses had resorted to eating the dogs themselves. This always left them sick, sometimes on death's door... except for Adhabu. She could eat dog flesh just as well as she could any other kind. Which mean that she always had a source of food...

"Whoa," said Shindani, looking over one dune at the two approaching cats, "that guy really is carrying four gazelles. Is he some kind of fr—well... guess he is," she said thoughtfully, coolly.

"Where's Samehe?" asked Sikia, looking to the south, confused, "she's not usually late... except for when something happens. Should we go and look for her?" the younger sister of the group wondered out loud.

"Nahhh," yawned Adhabu, "she said that if she doesn't come back, don't bother looking for her. ...I bet she's doing some reconnaissance. Way behind enemy lines or something. She's the only one out of all of us that can actually get around in the Dark Forest without being noticed..."

"Yeah," Shindani agree curtly after a moment, "she's one tough lioness. Remember that day when we were all fighting in the South, and, like, two dozen of them tried to flank us? She told us to hold the line, and that she'd take them out... and then, she did."

"She really is my grandmother," said the not-so-distant voice of Freak... it always annoyed people when he would interrupt their conversations from distances that were normally beyond earshot.

"Yeah. Guess she is," shrugged Shindani, thinking, _"I'll bet she is... but if she hated your mother so much that she called her Chukizo... I wonder what's gonna happen when she finds out that you... exist."_

"Where is she?" the li-tigon asked as he and Msaka allowed the gazelles to slide to the ground in the rough center of the group.

The lionesses circled, and started to eat into the gazelles. Freak did as well, after a moment, accepting that his question was ignored and that his grandmother would come when she did. Though, he did drag his gazelle a little further away so he could dodge a full-out assault... if it ever came.

"_I'm a loner by nature,"_ he thought, ripping loose a chunk of flesh, _"but it's strange... I've now spent time with two prides. And there has only been... confusion at first. But then... we come to trust one another. Even... form friendships. But that's bad for everyone involved,"_ the li-tigon mused, _"because I don't know how to really be a pride animal. And I don't think I ever will."_

"_..But... there's no harm in trying to. And if there is, then I'll leave."_

"_Yes. I'll... try. But I don't expect anything to come out of. In fact, I expect it to utterly fail. Just as my quest for love did..."_

"_But wait,"_ Freak actually physically paused, _"I couldn't be with Vitani. And I couldn't be with Simba and the Pride Landers. But now I have another chance to be part of a pride. So does that mean... that someday, I'll have another chance to love?"_

"Hey..." said Adhabu, who was already finished eating, "what do you know..." the dark lioness tilted her head back to swallow one last piece of meat, "it's Samehe."

For the first time, the li-tigon saw a hint of a smile on Adhabu's lips... and it was a smile that she didn't even try to hide. As he looked up, he could easily see the other three young lionesses grin widely. Sikia even nuzzled her sister, such was her relief that their beloved leader had returned.

Freak suddenly felt... more threatened than he usually did. So, while the four lionesses rushed off to greet the lone silhouette on a far sand dune, he hung back... then disappeared below the surface of the Desert.

"_If she hated my mother enough to call her Chukizo and send her away into the Desert... there's no telling what she'll do when she finds out that I exist."_

Meanwhile, the lionesses had reached Samehe. She was a little younger than Sarabi... but anyone who looked at her could tell that she was a step above the ex-matriarch's fitness level. And yet, her soldiers, who weren't even full grown yet, were very nearly as deadly as a counterassassin.

It was a fact she struggled with every day: though the Desert Pride needed its best warriors to fight back against the unrelenting legions of Dark Forest dogs... was it really acceptable to use mere juveniles as killing machines?

Samehe still wasn't sure. That's why she had always done her damnedest to teach the four lionesses the sacredness of life. She never allowed them to kill retreating enemies or cubs, and she never allowed them to love battle. She only taught them to accept it... as one of the harsh parts of the Circle of Life.

But now wasn't the time for all that. Her reconnaissance mission had been quite successful—and so she ducked out of the friendly nuzzles and licks prematurely.

"Desert Warriors," she said, calming them all instantly, "I have information vital to our war. I found out where they're hiding the Lord of the Fores—"

Samehe was cut off by Sikia, whose paw shot into the air, waving vigorously.

The old lioness's eyes narrowed slightly—she knew that the youngest feline in the Desert was, justifiably, light-hearted. But she'd never interrupted such an important announcement before...

It all came down to a matter of trust. And Samehe trusted all of her soldiers with her life.

"What is it, Sikia?" she asked, lips quavering slightly, in between a stern frown that would be most befitting of such a war-hardened fighter and the exasperated grin of a mother.

"We've got something more important to tell you," the youngest lioness said seriously, and Samehe's eyes narrowed, though in a curious, not suspicious manner.

"She's right," Adhabu rasped.

"...I don't really know how to tell you this..." Msaka delayed, after the dark lioness said nothing else.

Shindani rolled her eyes—Msaka was the hunter, Sikia was the goofball, Adhabu was the pragmatist, Samehe was the leader... but she had always been the blunt, force to force combatant of the Desert Warriors.

"Your grandson's here."

At first, Samehe didn't seem to register that simple phrase. She merely stared at Shindani with a blank expression. After that went on for a few moments, the other Desert lionesses began to get worried—even Shindani's brow furrowed.

"Hey... Samehe... are you o—"

Sikia abruptly shut up, and her eyes widened.

The Desert Warriors had been together through tough times. They'd all been injured, all been at death's door more than once. They'd all lived through the deaths of family and friends. And they'd all had their souls torn apart by the act of killing.

But they'd never, _ever_ shown each another their tears.

It wasn't a rule. That's just how things went. Crying was recognized as a sign of weakness... and the only way that the last lionesses in the Desert... indeed, the last members of the Desert Pride, now... managed to survive was by refusing to allow for the possibility of defeat.

Sure, they might lose a few inches, or feet, or miles of land. But they never acknowledged, even in their minds, that they weren't strong enough. That they might lose. That they were weak.

And yet... in front of the four young, strong, diverse... killers... their leader was crying.

She wasn't sobbing in heart-racking agony. These were tears of guilt.

"I always knew..." the oldest one, the deadliest of the bunch whispered, as tears continued to stain her dusty tan fur a shade darker, "I always knew... that Chukizo hadn't died. She was tough. Like her mother. Like... her father."

Msafiri had once told Samehe, and only Samehe, under the promise of secrecy, her loathed enemy. And how her loathed enemy was the identity of her friend's rapist. Oh, she'd also told Freak about his grandfather, in her dying breath... by the adrenaline coursing through the li-tigon's veins, and the general disregard he held for what others could do for him made this one of the very few things he forgot in his life. Both Msafiri and Samehe had kept silent about the existence of tigers, of course—if any other lions found out that tigers existed, albeit in a land far, far beyond their reach... the majestic, aggressive cats would seek out their striped brothers, and war would ensue.

And for the past few generations, the last thing any lion pride needed was another enemy.

"Her father..." mouthed Sikia, but she didn't press the issue.

"Where... where is he? My grandson," Samehe asked, in such a pained, desperate voice that it made her warriors cringe to hear, "I want to—I... _need_... to see him."

"_To tell him that I love him. And that... I'm sorry."_

"I'm right here," said a voice to the south, the direction from which Samehe had just approached.

And there he sat. The dry, temperate breeze of the Desert evening ruffled his longish fur. For a second, the clouds shifted, along moonlight to shine upon the li-tigon, illuminating his otherwise invisible stripes... the spitting image of his mother, his grandfather, and one more.

His head was tilted slightly, in that same naive, cub-like manner that made him seem almost innocent. But the long, deadly-looking sharp claws that jutted from his paws; the almost overlarge teeth that nearly hung from his mouth, and the jagged triangular scar that adorned his left eye to this day told Samehe that her grandson had lived a life a thousand times as hard as hers... a thousand times as hard as the one Chukizo had been forced to live.

"My grandson..." she whispered, and took a single, tentative step forward.

The li-tigon didn't react. He looked at his grandmother as coldly, as analytically, as emotionally as he might look at a prey animal. And for the first time in her life, Samehe flinched.

As her lip quavered, wondering if she could possibly convince her grandson to accept her as family, as a loving guardian, she saw his mouth open slowly, as if he was searching for the right words.

And then, the dusty-tan lioness, whose age neared that of Sarabi's, yet whose combat abilities would make any counterassassin jealous heard her grandson, her very own grandchild, her mark on the world, heard him say three impossible words.

"Msafiri says hi."

* * *

(I must have five reviews to continue. So please tell me what you think. Also, if I were to write a Balto fanfiction in the near future, just how many of you would give it a read? Anyway, this is al-Mujahid... see you soon.)


	12. All's Fair I: Grandmother and Cub

The Lion King: The Freak  
Chapter 12: All's Fair I: Grandmother and Cub

* * *

(Keep an eye out for my Balto fanfiction soon. Also, it's probably best if you read chapter four of my name before reading this.

Also, I'll be making a big, big change this chapter. This time, I will actually read over and edit my work before posting it. Finally, Nasher is not pronounced like gnasher. More like: na+share.)

* * *

"_I've done well for myself."_

The tiger stepped out of cover, sniffing several times. The area was clear of other predators, and, especially, humans.

"Asal! Kochai! ...It's safe."

The male looked behind him. He smiled once at the sight of his mate, and their daughter. Soon, however, as dark memories rose, his ears flickered, and his face saddened slightly.

"What is it?" the white tigress said, standing in her place at her older mate's side.

"This place... is where my mother was killed. And my brother... I don't know what happened to him."

* * *

The tiger cub gasped in horror. His gaze met his brothers, and the two managed to give each another the strength to not break down in tears at the sudden death of their mother. The large, powerful tigress lay there, as if peacefully, her paws folded under her large, fluffy head. She'd taken them both, and ran at the sign of the humans... but she couldn't outrun the reach of a rifle.

Slowly, both of her sons reached out with their smaller paws, and pushed her eyelids shut.

"Brother," the one with sharper, longer teeth said, "we can still get away."

"If we move now," said the other, attempting a grin with his bushier, furrier face.

Suddenly, another gunshot roared across the landscape. The dangerous-looking cub watched as his brother's expression fell... and as blood seeped through all that thick, cottony fur...

The cub felt something inside him change, as if a portion of his heart had forever broken. He then turned and dashed through the forest, even as the hunters approached. Tears streamed from his small, yet already predatory eyes... and the cry of agony that he then made echo through his home came to be feared by mankind as the roar of the King of the Jungle.

* * *

"I think he thought that I died... and I almost did," the older tiger said, now flanked by both his mate and their daughter, "but I got up... and I ran. But I couldn't see well. I couldn't follow him. And that day was the last time I ever saw him..."

"I heard the rumors, of course, of a killer to the northwest," he grinned slightly, nudging his golden-tabby daughter... though she was still a cub, he'd seen her do things that made him both extremely proud... and vaguely nervous.

"...But I never found the courage to travel there. Until now, when I am finally certain that even if I die on this trip through the Triangle of Pain," he referred to the three villages that attracted hunters from around the world, who wrought death and terror on the land for miles around, "at least, I have others that will remember that I was alive."

The tiger looked at the other members of his small, but strong family. A smile cracked across his old, yet rugged features, lighting up his toughened face instantly.

"_To be remembered... is the wish of every creature in this world."_

* * *

(Read up to Chapter 2 of My Name before reading this part. Also, one instance of bad language.)

At first, the task seemed impossible. Then, it seemed on the far end of doable. And now, the Pride Landers saw it for what it truly was: possible. For some.

At the half-mile mark, Simba growled, and called back to his troops.

"Watch out for falling lava!"

"_What?"_ thought Kovu, as he thundered along, just next to his mate, _"but for the lava to be falling... it would have to be forcefully shot into the ai—"_

The big lion's thought was cut off as he roared in agony, and only barely managed to keep his footing. It was all he could do to stop himself from pawing at the top of his head—if it wasn't for his mane, that large drop of molten rock would have killed him. As it was, he'd be burned, possibly for life.

But his troubles were nothing compared to the poor lioness that was only paces behind him.

The hyenas were further back, and were forced to watch as the loyal Pride Lander shrieked, as a practical bucketload of lava spilled over her back. For a second, she jumped into the air, clawing at herself in agony, burning her paws into nothingness. Then, she hit the "ground" again, still moving fast enough to prevent herself from sinking for a moment.

She died with her eyes open, her maw split in a never-ending howl of agony. The hyenas were forced to leap over the poor feline's head, and their tears dripped onto her eyes...

"Come on! We can still do this!"

The Pride Landers were tiring now, with each passing stride, their muscles pleaded with them to stop, to rest. But that was impossible—they had to keep sprinting at that near breakneck speed or all die.

"Come on, Banzai," said Uvuli, panting, even as she nosed the side of the one who'd become something of a surrogate big brother to her, "you can do it."

"Heheh... yeah..." the hyena grinned, even as his face twisted; he wasn't used to running this fast for this long.

"Shenzi..." Usiku said, appearing at the matriarch's side as if out of nowhere, "...your parents have made this trip. And so.. you will be able to as well."

The female's eyes widened, and she only barely managed to yank her gaze forward, dodging another deadly rain of lava.

"How did you..."

"Now's not the time. Come on! Run!" the black hyena growled, then jumped into the air, diving over a bubbling part of the lava, "Don't slow down! MOVE!"

At the three-quarter mark, the Pride Landers really were starting to become exhausted. Not even Usiku and his daughter could pretend to be able to run at this speed for so long without ill effect. The Royal Family, for the most part, seemed to be able to hold out, if barely...

Except for Sarabi.

The wound at her flank had taken a lot of blood, muscle, and health from the aging lioness. She managed to grin and bear the agony, for now. But it remained to be seen if she was even physically capable of going on.

And then, of course, there was the constant distraction of her dying compatriots. It was horrible—a lioness would slip, or tire, and just for a second, they'd slow... and that's all it took. They sink into the lava slowly, or suddenly, or they'd burst into flame. But it didn't matter. All it took was one mistake for death to follow, and the Pride Landers, though the holiest beings in the area... were not perfect.

"_Father..."_ Simba thought, almost begging, as he heard the heart- wrenching cry of yet another lioness falling to her hot, fiery death, _"please... you cannot help us. But perhaps you can help my cousin, our great Warrior... and our only hope."_

"_Wherever he is."_

Meanwhile, Uvuli was forced to jump over the fireball that that same lioness's death produced. Usiku had once worried that she'd become too much like him, too much like her grandfather... and not enough like their mother. But the intense, unconcealed look of shock and pain that etched its way across her young features told him that whatever else she was; stronger, powerful, quick, and yes, deadly... she was still, vitally, compassionate. Still capable of love. And therefore, still capable of jealousy, even hate.

"_Wherever you are... I hope you're happy. Leaving us behind, when we needed you. ...Leaving me without even saying goodbye! Fuck you!"_

* * *

The li-tigon shivered suddenly, for no reason at all. It was the same reaction he always had when yet another being cursed him as a freak. And yet, there was no one here doing that...

But his attention was returned to his grandmother with a snarl. She was getting just a little bit too close, and Freak wasn't about to take the threat that she posed lightly.

"Grandson..." she said, halting from her tearful sprint, coming to rest only a few yards from the li-tigon, whose body was now arranged in the stance of a Jungle fighter, with some elements of the powerful style that the Pride Landers, and even a hint of the speed-based Bloody Shadow's style.

"What do you want?" he practically snapped, and backed away, until there was good buffer between him and the old lioness.

"Hey, now," Adhabu said, plodding over to her leader's side, almost leisurely, "you're the one that came here."

"Yeah," Sikia piped up, cocking her head at the li-tigon, "I mean... she should be asking you that."

Freak merely growled at them, then stopped. He had no reason to feel anger, or any other emotion towards these Desert lionesses. Coming here was a waste of time...

"My apologies for trespassing on your land," he said emotionlessly, bowing his head slightly, though not enough to give anyone a chance at striking him, "I'll now take my leave of you."

"No!" said Samehe, moving instantly to cut the young male off from the north.

"Wait... please..." she said, almost begging, as tears continued to leak from her eyes.

"...Fine..." he muttered coldly, and sat down, licking at his paw almost angrily, trying to ignore Samehe.

"Grandson... what is your name?" she asked, slinking closer to him; for some reason, the li-tigon really didn't notice this.

"Freak," he growled, he didn't even pick up the fact that Samehe's voice was approaching him... because it wasn't.

"Why... why would you call yourself that?"

This time, the li-tigon's ear twitched, as he swore he heard a tear fall mere feet from him, although Samehe's voice was still apparently emanating from the same spot he'd seen her at.

"Because that's what I am. And Mother died before she could name me. So—"

Freak was suddenly cut off by two powerful forelegs that wrapped under his shoulders, then behind his neck. He struggled furiously, shaking, roaring, but he was completely pinned; whatever was holding him wasn't budging an inch. The li-tigon got desperate, not even realizing that his assailant wasn't hurting him, at least, not yet, and tried to dig under the sand.

That didn't work at all, in fact, it only got him stuck. So he roared again, but the pin didn't lessen in the slightest. It was only then that he realized that he was unharmed... and that he recognized the scent of his attacker.

"...How did you do that..." he said in his flat voice, though the old lioness that was holding him to the ground could tell that he was, in his own way, grudgingly respecting her.

A good start, though his obvious unease, made clear by the way he shuddered at her touch, meant that Samehe had a good deal of work to do.

"I threw my voice," the lioness said simply, wiping her tears away with a paw—she might have let her emotions show, but she had kept her head.

"You mean like this?" said a voice behind Samehe, causing her ears to twitch, yet her hold didn't loosen.

"Exactly..." she said softly.

There was a long moment of silence, as grandson and grandmother flexed their muscles, as if testing the strength of the other, feeling for weaknesses. It ended when Freak tried to bash his grandmother's head in with a powerful paw strike. Samehe saw it coming, and used her leg to block it, then flipped him around, slamming him onto his back, crushing half the air from his lungs and holding his neck in her jaws while her forepaws kept him pinned.

"_Wait... this isn't going to make him trust me."_

"I am going to let you go... on the condition that you do not leave. Alright?" she asked, giving his neck some leeway.

"...Fine," the li-tigon replied curtly, not meeting the lioness's eyes.

"_I have no reason to believe that he won't bolt at the first opportunity,"_ Samehe thought, slowly relaxing her grip on her grandson.

It registered to her that if he did do that, she could chase him down and pin him again. She shook her head free from that thought immediately—she might be a warrior. But that didn't make it alright for her to look at her grandson, who she only wanted to... she didn't know what, but she certainly didn't want to look at Freak as an enemy.

The lioness then carefully released Freak, making sure to position herself so that even if he did suddenly decide to attack her, she wouldn't be caught off guard. Fortunately, however, the li-tigon didn't move until she was a good few steps away from him.

At that point, he got to his feet, and, after shuddering for a moment, checking himself for injuries. There were none. Good.

It was almost dusk, now, and the sun was setting in the sky like a slowly falling nectarine. Its rays splayed over the li-tigon, lending a bit of color to his darkish fur, illuminating his rarely-seen stripes; as if putting them on display for his grandmother. Samehe _almost_ gaped. She would have, if not for the life she'd led; one that demanded perfect self-control. So she clamped her jaw shut, though the li-tigon could see the effort etched all over her face.

"...So..."

How to talk to him? A being that she'd had a paw in forcing into a life that must have been more difficult than hers? She couldn't straight-out ask him why he'd come to the Desert, could she? But he didn't look to be the kind of being to be so easily offended... or even affected.

"...Why have you come to the Desert?" she asked, as calmly as she dared, though a quavering tone was heard in the lioness's voice.

The li-tigon seemed to think, as if choosing his words. That made sense: eloquence wasn't a trait that had run in the family. But, in fact, Freak was considering whether he'd be served best by a statement of truth or a lie.

In the end, he decided to speak the truth. For now.

"To see you," he said simply, the emptiness of his bleak, hopeless eyes boring into his grandmother.

Samehe seemed to guess that he was, at least, considering lying. And so, she spoke skeptically, refusing to let any more wetness enter her eye.

"Is that so?" the lioness said, almost scoffing, "why would you want to do that?"

Again, the li-tigon seemed to pause. But this time, Samehe didn't get the idea that he was thinking of lying. Perhaps it was that constant breathing rate that she managed to detect, or the way his eyes didn't leave her for a second, or perhaps it was that he was her grandson, her blood... that she knew him better than either of them could imagine.

"Because..." he started slowly, "because I... _thought_... that you'd ca—that you'd care," Freak finished, as if allowing the words to tumble out of him, too exhausted to hold them back anymore.

Those words gave Samehe pause, and she couldn't speak again. Her efforts to contain her emotions failed, slightly, as her eyes, normally so hard and cold, softened.

She looked at the young male, and could see that he'd lived. That's it—just lived. Samehe had a few goals, very simple ones, that she held dearly, and worked towards every day. But Freak... she could tell that he'd been far, far too busy with just hanging on to ever have the hope of anything more.

"...I see that I am mistaken," he said, almost softly, looking at his grandmother as if for the last time.

"...I would leave. But I promised those four," he nodded at the young Desert Warriors, "that I would fight. ...They said that it was my duty, because I was a son of the Desert. My mother's son. Who was your daughter, and a daughter of the Desert. But..." Freak said, shaking his head at Samehe, as if he was somehow ashamed of being of her, "...I don't know what made my mother leave this place. But I know that it wasn't entirely her fault. It couldn't be—I knew her for only a few moments... but she... she did her duty as a mother, as best she could," Freak said simply, confidently, as if it was a fact that couldn't be disputed.

"...But her name... Chukizo," he said, and the fur on the back of everyone's neck pricked back, as the cold blast of disgust that the use of that word brought affected them, "how... why?" he said, his face changing slightly, just a fraction so... so that emotion actually showed on it, "why, Grandmother? Why, why, _why_ would you call your daughter that? ...Msafiri told me about my Grandfather," he remarked, and Samehe, despite herself, felt a prickle of worry in the back of her mind—if he knew that other big cats existed in this world, and had told others...

"...I'm sorry for what happened to you," Freak said, lowering his head slightly, apologetically, as if he, somehow, was at fault for the actions of Shere Kahn, "...but Grandmother... his blood wasn't the only blood that ran in Mother's veins. Yours did as well..."

The lioness had closed her eyes, giving Freak the illusion that she was calm. However, inside of her body and mind, a terrible ball of guilt rolled about, threatening to break free of the barriers that so barely held it. Her tail twitched, just shy of lashing around, and yet, the Desert lioness held back...

"...and I don't know why you couldn't see that. Why you can't see it," Freak said flatly, referring to himself, "I am as much of your's as I am of grandfather's. ...You... should care. ...Family... is supposed to care."

The li-tigon stepped back several yards, before starting to turn.

"Tomorrow, I'll make good on my promise. But don't approach me..."

"...I don't trust you," he muttered, as he walked away, out of sight over the nearest sand dune, his tail the last part of his body that Samehe could see.

Finally, when the leader of the last, determined defenders of the Desert sense that her grandson was well and completely out of earshot, she allowed herself to nearly collapse to the ground.

Sikia was the first at her side, though the others weren't far behind her at all.

"...My poor grandson..." she said softly, "...it was all I could do to conceal my emotions. ...But you weren't trying at all. I understand," she said, wrapping her paws around her surrogate children, whom she'd taken on partly to help her compensate for the complete lack of a mother-role she played for the four tigons that she'd birthed, "if you had emotions... then you'd just die. It's your defense mechanism. The words of others do not hurt you, because the capacity to feel that kind of pain was long purged from your system. And now... you may never know the _strength_ that emotions may give you."

"_They say that some emotions, when strong, and pure enough, can allow some beings to do incredible things. It is true, we experience it every day that we fight off the dogs of the Forest. And grandson... if there is one being that the Great Spirits may chose to grace with whatever powers they control... I can tell even now that it's you."_

Samehe slowly looked skywards, as her soldiers finished rubbing her with their heads, and looked along with her.

"_Isn't that right... O King of the Jungle?"_

* * *

It was a major event in the world of the lions. Such a thing came along only every other generation, and many cats went their lives without experiencing it.

They knew when it was, instinctively. They didn't have things such as calenders, and yet, each of them could feel when it was coming.

The Desert lions had no overwhelming need to go to a place where it was visible, at least, not as a group. In the past few months, relations with the Wet Forest had broken down, and though war hadn't broken out yet, everyone knew that it was just a matter of time before some relatively minuscule liberty by one side was blown out of proportion.

Samehe took her time to prepare. She'd spent the past few days eating more than she normally did, because she had no idea what she might find in the Southern Rocklands to the southeast of her home.

She was fortunate—there wasn't much. There was some prey, so she traveled in relative comfort, even though there was some threat posed by the strange, scaled beings that seemed to rule that area. They seemed to accept her presence, barely, so Samehe never allowed them to see her eating a prey animal that was, by any rights, theirs.

Finally, she passed through that area. It was fortunate that the lizards and the dogs didn't get along very well, otherwise a pack of them might have been sent through the Rocklands to take down who was already recognized as the most deadly lioness in the Desert.

And now, at the easternmost point that anyone knew of, Samehe waited. She was on the edge of a great, tall cliff, and the waves that crashed into it sprayed her with seawater. And she waited on... it wasn't long now.

Even here, the event was barely visible. She would just be close enough to it to do this...

The sun was far, far east of her. Hardly visible. And yet Samehe could see just a bit of darkness start to creep over it...

Now, the darkness, a circular shadow of sorts, was concealing half of the sun. And the lioness could start to feel the power of the Spirits shine in this, the most common of major celestial events.

"Great Spirits..." she started calmly, before the same pained, confused, rage she always felt at the thought of her rapist, "why... WHY?! Why did he do it? What could possibly push a creature so far?!" she yelled, tears streaming down the sides of her face, tears she had never, ever allowed herself to shed.

* * *

"Scar..." Chukizo purred, rousing her mate, who was sleeping peacefully at her side, "look... over there," she said, gazing into the northwest, "what was _that_? The weather?"

(If you don't know what titanic atmospheric event I'm referring to, shame on you.)

"I don't know..." the dark lion said, moving up to peer out of the cave, a jolt of adrenaline flooding through his system as he swore he recognized a huge face in the clouds, "perhaps... no, that's irrelevant..." he said, then slumped down.

"What is it?" the tigon asked authoritatively, but Scar gave a loud, mocked snore.

"Taka..." she said in a mock-dangerous tone, before prodding the lion's side, causing him to grin, and look up at her, "what...?"

"Today is a special day. ...Well, any day that I spend with you, is," he said, rubbing his snout on the tigon's, before continuing, "but there's an eclipse, today. I can feel it... I don't know if you can, though, my little abomination."

"No, I can feel it," Chukizo said, cuffing her mate's chin with a fisted paw, "an eclipse... what meaning does that have for us?"

"Well, they say that on an eclipse, no lion can die. It's a day of sacredness... many good things happen on days like this. Lost ones come home, bad times end... lions meet their mates..." he said, nudged the side of Chukizo's muzzle with his nose.

"And... if a cub is conceived during an eclipse?" she asked, her eyes locking onto the larger cat's.

"Then... no doubt, that being will have an extraordinary life..."

* * *

(For this part, please listen to This Land from the Lion King soundtrack. It can be found on youtube with ease.)

Samehe saw many things, many of the cold, brutally harsh, alone moments that were the only kind that Shere Kahn had known in his life.She watched a thousand nights that the tiger spent without a friend in the world, a thousand battles he found with no one at his side, a thousand enemies he defeated, only to return home to a thousand more days of solitude. The lioness saw the tiger get pulled further and further away from any chance at ever being able to live for anything, much less anyone... and so, by the time the Spirits brought her view to the day that he washed up, alone, abandoned, as always... a tear leaked from her eye.

This was a lioness that had been forced to bear cubs at a disturbingly young age, and a lioness that had, alone, taken down a half-dozen gazelles... she wasn't a wimp by any standards. And yet, by the time the Spirits finished answering her question, mercifully sparing her the images of her friend, she was crying.

They were the tears of hate and anger that had fallen when she'd asked the question. They were tears of sympathy...

"_Chukizo..."_ the lioness thought, as she started the long journey home, _"if you did survive... it's as much of your father's doing as it is of mine."_

* * *

"A question..." Samehe said, ignoring the strange looks she got from her soldiers, as she got to her feet, giving herself a mental shakedown, "did my grandson... did you ever see him display _any_ emotion? Even the slightest amount?"

"Umm... ye!," said Sikia, glad to see her leader acting normally again, "When me and Shindani stopped him at the waterfall, he was angry. But besides that... no, not really, no," the young lioness said, her ears flattening to the back of her head slightly.

"Damn..." the oldest lioness sighed, but rubbed the top of Sikia's head with an extended paw, "oh well... it's time to get some rest."

"Wait... what?" asked Adhabu, slowly, "...Samehe... come on. Be honest with us. You don't really want to sleep. You want _us_ to sleep... so that you can go see your little grandson, right?"

The dark lioness's gaze narrowed at her leader, and Samehe sighed.

"Fine... yes, that's exactly what I want to do, cheeky."

"But you heard what he said," drawled Shindani, looking over her claws, before glancing up at Samehe, "'don't approach me', or some shit like that?"

The old lioness shot Shindani a glare, and the latter looked down meekly, and muttered a word of apology for her language.

"Even so, Shindani's right," Msaka said, looking at Samehe with the same vaguely ominous intensity that befitted the gaze of a hunter, "he obviously wants to be alone. Are you sure it's smart to approach him? You might push him away..."

"...Not if I'm careful," said Samehe, and she forced a dry grin onto her face, one that even the overoptimistic Sikia could see through, "get some rest, Warriors," she said, and all four lionesses abruptly stopped _thinking_ of doing otherwise, "I'll see you tomorrow... we're going to have a long, hard battle tomorrow..."

The lioness smiled once, certain that her soldiers would be up to it. Their lives had been chock-full of combat since day one, and it had hardened them for whatever Hell she might put them through.

"_Now... grandson..."_

* * *

Freak tossed and turned on the Desert sand. He couldn't understand it—he'd slept in far, far less comfortable places in his exploration of the Jungle, and done so without difficulty. So why, now, was he unable to get any rest?

"_Curse Grandmother. It's her fault for not raising Mother properly, forget what she went through. And if Mother had been raised properly, maybe I would have been, too... maybe Maisha would have even lived more than a few damn _seconds_."_

The injustice of it all made the li-tigon want to roar out loud, to vomit, to go back over the sand dune and kill his own Grandmother—

But he suddenly calmed himself, panting. Doing that would do him no good... and, it was immoral.

"_There's nobody on this planet that thinks that I'm anything but what I am. Even the Pride Landers acknowledge that I'm a freak... ...well..."_

* * *

A small corner of the li-tigon's mind registered that he could hear Usiku walking away. And yet, he didn't turn to make sure, to wonder what the black hyena was doing so close to him. He was too busy tossing Uvuli up and down in the air, hearing her squeals and giggles give him something he'd never really felt before.

"_Not happiness, not hope, not tranquility,"_ he thought, feeling his lips twist into a position that he'd never known them to be in before, as he thought of the three emotions he could never recall really knowing.

"_...All of them? Something else? Something more?"_

"Heheh... that's enough... let me down."

The cub's voice brought the li-tigon's head back to the secular domain, and he allowed her smallish, squirming form to escape his paws. He watched her, in that strange, nearly innocent, naive manner of his, broken only by his dangerously large jaws and claws, as she walked over to slump over onto his paws.

"Uvuli..." Freak asked after a long while, slumping down as well, so that her much smaller form was almost enveloped by his, "...can I ask you something?"

His dark green eyes met the black cub's deep brown orbs, and he felt her tiny paw bat his nose once.

"Sure, go ahead," she said, and continued to play with his nose, taking advantage of the way he didn't object at all, unlike her father and the other hyenas seemed to.

"...I know I'm a freak. But... what makes me one? Why do others see me as a freak? Why can't they see me as just another being in the Circle of Life? ...I don't care if no one ever loves me or sees me as friend... but I wish people would stop thinking that I'm so different from them the second they see me. Why can't they just see me... as me? Why do they have to see a freak instead?"

Uvuli's playful pawing had subsided with each passing word of the li-tigon's monologue. And by the end, she was motionless.

"_I was made fun of in the Bloody Shadows a lot. Mom made me feel better about it, though... maybe I can make him feel better if I tell him what she always told me..."_

"It doesn't matter," she said, rubbing the li-tigon's nose with her paw, even as he cocked his head at her, "...it doesn't matter at all. All that matters is what you think of yourself. So if you think that you're normal, you'll be normal. If you think that you're great, you're great. And if you think you're a freak," she sighed softly, "...then you're a freak."

"...So..." the li-tigon said slowly, "...it's mostly because my name is Freak?"

"No," Uvuli said curtly, "that's just an expression of something that you already hold true. It doesn't matter what your name is... but what you think of yourself... that's what matters..." she said quietly.

"I'm not making much sense, am I?" Uvuli sighed after a moment, batting at the li-tigon's nose again.

"...No. You're not," he said curtly, but the black cub had been around him long enough to know that that was just how he spoke.

"...But... maybe one day, you will," he said slowly, and looked down at Uvuli again, "and if you do... then what kind of name would suit me, do you think?"

Uvuli thought for a moment, then smiled. She motioned for the li-tigon to lower his ear to her, then whispered a single word into it.

"Really?" he asked, cocking his head at her again, not sure if she was joking, and the wide grin on Uvuli's muzzle confused him further, "...I'm not sure if I can live up to that name."

The cub was taken aback, and scoffed. She thought of their first meeting, when he'd taken her hostage, and then _almost_ fought with the Pride Landers and her father, _after_ single-handedly massacring an entire army of hyenas.

"...I think you already have, goofball," Uvuli grinned, and gave the li-tigon's nose another thwack with her paw.

Freak seemed to pause for a moment, and the black cub wondered if she'd somehow hurt him.

"Hey, are you—whee!" she suddenly grinned, as Freak tossed her into the air again once more.

"...Thank you, Uvuli..." he said after a moment, as the cub looked up at him from her lower vantage point, "...It... means a lot to me."

Most females, especially female cubs would have ruined the moment just then by saying, "Awww," or something like that. But not the daughter of Usiku... she merely smiled brightly at Freak. She'd never imagined that she might be able to change him, if just a little... and so the muzzle she felt rubbing her relatively small body surprised her even more.

* * *

"_...She's just a cub. She had no idea what she was saying or doing. By now, she'd be a little older... I wonder how much she's changed."_

It wasn't a question of whether or not she had changed, but rather, a question of magnitude. Freak knew that the only real certainty in nature was that things changed, over time.

"_Except for me. I'll always be like this."_

"What are you thinking about, Grandson?" said a voice not twenty feet to the li-tigon's right, causing him to jump to his feet, hissing defensively.

"I told you to _stay away_," he growled, even as Samehe sat down, innocent but for the way her eyes didn't drop from Freak's for a second.

"I _ignored_ your 'order'. You should know to respect your elders, cub," she said, the hint of a snarl on her face.

"...Fine. You're here. Now what? We both stare at each another all night long? Because I'm not going to give you a shot at taking me while I'm asleep. It's like I said...I don't trust you."

"Why not?" Samehe said, in a steely tone that quavered only once, "It's like you said... family is supposed to care."

"You don't, though," the li-tigon said.

He wasn't angry. There wasn't a hint of resentment in his voice. It was more of a tone of emptiness, if anything.

"You didn't care about Mother, and I see no reason to believe that you care about me."

"Is that so?" said Samehe, padding a little closer to the li-tigon, ignoring the way his claws seemed to slowly extend of their own accord, "then why am I here?"

"...I don't know. You tell me."

The lioness allowed herself a moment of grudging respect for her grandson. Maybe it was just because he was so apathetic that he was objective.. but he was incredibly difficult to convince of, she assumed, anything, much less to trust someone that had a big paw in making his life so hard.

"To get you to accept that I care. That I'm looking out for your best interests."

The li-tigon bared his teeth, but his grandmother held... and realized that that was his version of a grin, albeit a noticeably forced and false one.

"Really? Then prove it."

Samehe's expression hardened, but she forced herself to calm, and remember to look at things from Freak's perspective.

"_How can I prove it?"_

"...Alright," she said, then started to move still closer to Freak.

The li-tigon growled loudly, and made a threatening claw-strike through the air as his grandmother approached, but she glared at him and spoke.

"I can't prove it unless you _let_ me."

Freak didn't relax, not for a second. But he stopped growling quite so loudly, and didn't claw towards Samehe again.

"What are you doing?" he snapped, turning quickly, as she apparently tried to flank him, walking to his side, then to his back.

"Calm down. I'm not going to hurt you," the lioness said flatly.

Freak felt her paw press up against his shoulder, and resisted for a moment, trying to figure out what she was doing, before the force became to great, and he was forced to slump over. The li-tigon growled once, but then stopped, relying on his hearing to notify him of any potential attack.

"I said that I wasn't going to hurt you," Samehe sighed, "_trust_ me..."

"Why should I? It's your fault that Mother lived the way she had to. It's your fault that I've lived the way I've had to. Why should I trust you?" he demanded, yet in an almost broken way.

"Because..." the lioness said dryly, and if Freak knew more about emotions, he'd realize that she was just barely holding back tears, "you're my grandson... and I'm trying to fix things. ...I... want to love you. And I want you to feel the same way about me."

The li-tigon tensed visibly at that, though, Samehe hadn't done anything to him yet.

"...Love doesn't exist," he said flatly, "it's just an illusion..."

"It's a good one, then," the lioness said just as seriously.

Freak didn't respond to that. But he bristled as he felt Samehe's tongue run over his neck, through the small, sporadic tufts of black hair that he called a mane.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, claws extending, puncturing the Desert sand.

His grandmother didn't open her eyes as she continued to lick him, and reached over to manipulate the back of his paw with her digits in a strange, complex way that made Freak's eyes narrow, as he watched his own claws retract without his will for them to do so.

"Chukizo died when you were only a few minutes old, right?" she said, then continued what she was doing.

"...Yes..." said Freak guardedly, still extremely tense, not yet trusting his grandmother.

"So, she never got a chance to do this. To give you a bath," Samehe explained, recalling that many happy mother lionesses in the Desert Pride had said that that vitally important action would forever bond mother and cub.

"No. So? There were plenty of lakes and rivers in the Jungle. I bathed myself."

"Doesn't matter," Samehe sighed, starting to clean the top of her grandson's head, pausing once, to cub her cheek against him, so that a tear spilled from her eye into Freak's, "she could never show you that she cared like this... so I will."

The li-tigon relaxed slightly, and allowed his grandmother to bathe the rest of his face without complaint. She didn't know whether to be glad for that or disappointed—just how much progress had she made in her mission to give her grandson emotions?

He curled up, then twisted to his feet, in a vague imitation of the way he'd seen Sikia do the same. A smile flashed across Samehe's lips at that.

"_He's a quick learner."_

"Grandmother," he said, although in a tone that suggested he had, at least, some respect for the lioness, "...you lionesses of the Desert move, and fight, in a way that's... different... from anything that I've ever seen before. The Pride Landers used to fight powerfully, in linear motions, and only thought of flanking their enemies when there were more than one of them, when they could surround them. I taught them to be... sneaky, to surprise foes, to distract them, and confuse them. ...You guys do something different. It's like you act as if you're going to do the expected... then, suddenly, and flawlessly change, to attack from an unexpected angle, or with an unexpected attack. When I hunted with Msaka... she did something that I can't explain. She jumped," Freak said, speaking quickly, earnestly, intent to learn the secrets of the fighting style that Samehe had developed, with some influence from Msafiri, "then curled up, on her side... then twisted out, and extended her claws, and killed all the gazelles, just like that. And then, they said that you're better than all of them... is that true, Grandmother?" the li-tigon asked, tilting his head in that strange, distinctive manner of his.

Samehe couldn't help but feel proud, and took a moment to remember to thank the Desert Warriors for their indirect praise.

"And other thing, Grandmother..." Freak said, "you called them the Desert Warriors. As if you were called something else altogether. What name do you go by?"

"...Perceptive," Samehe said, smiling openly now, "our enemies, the dogs of the Dark, Wet Forest, call me... the Slayer of a Thousand."

"Does that mean..." Freak said slowly, "...that you've killed... a _thousand_ of your enemies?"

"_I don't know whether to be proud or ashamed of that."_ (I'll leave it up to the reader to decide who's thinking that.)

The lioness didn't answer. She seemed to tense herself, and Freak watched as her muscled rippled in a way that made no sense to him.

"_What is she doing?"_

The li-tigon's gaze was then yanked twenty feet into the air... tracking his grandmother. The old lioness then seemed to raise her paws, and Freak watched, incredulous, as the Desert sand reached up to cloak her. Then, all too quickly, it fell... but his grandmother was nowhere to be seen. He took a second to listen, to feel the Desert under his paws, much like he'd done in the Jungle, the Bloody Shadows, and almost been able to do in the Lower Plains. And so Freak was able to spin, just before his Grandmother could surprise him from the rear.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Samehe asked, looking at her grandson confidently, and Freak couldn't help but nod, albeit curtly, "But if you're smart, and strong... you can defeat the illusion of invincibility—"

"--That beings strong enough to challenge even the Circle of Life can cast..." Freak finished, he'd said nearly the same words not so long ago in the Jungle, when he'd prepared the counterassassins for the invasion of the Shadows... he felt nostalgia almost overtake him, as he remembered the powerful bonds of camaraderie that had allowed them to make the Shadows bleed.

Then the li-tigon realized: perhaps, he could achieve a similar sense of belonging amongst the remaining Desert Pride.

"Yes," Samehe said, and looked at Freak meaningfully.

She said nothing. But the li-tigon understood the feelings that she couldn't easily put into words.

"_You really are my grandson."_

"...Can you teach me to do the same? ...I... move differently than most... any lions do. I think it's because of Grandfather... but I can imitate most actions that I see. Even improve upon them," Freak said, then paused, before speaking again, asking a question that had weighed heavily on his mind for his entire life.

"Grandmother," he said, in his unafflicted, flat voice, though the old lioness could swear she heard it crack, if just in the slightest, "what... am I? You're a lioness. My father was a lion. But Mother... and Grandfather... what were they?"

Samehe sighed. She knew that this question would arise soon. But why did it have to be this soon?

"Your grandfather, my child..." she said, lowering her voice, stepping closer to her grandson, who didn't, for the first time, flinch or back away, "...was a tiger."

"...A tiger?" Freak asked, then paused before saying more, "...I think Msafiri told me that. She said it... like the way a lot of people have said my name. Like it's something bad. Something evil. ...Are all tigers evil? Is that why Grandfather—"

"No," Samehe said sharply, cutting her grandson off, "tigers are... cats. Like us. But they're different. They come from a different land, and live differently than we do. Lions live in a pride. Tigers don't. They're solitary animals, and the moment they become adults, must remain so for the rest of their days. And if they don't have cubhoods that provide them with enough affection and closeness to prepare them for the lives of a hermit... they're always in pain. Unless, somehow, they find another cat that accepts them..."

"So...Grandfather was in pain? Is that why..."

Samehe nodded.

"You've forgiven him?" the li-tigon asked, cocking his head.

He'd always been of the opinion that everyone was a threat, that's how he lived his life. And yet, he know knew of many that would never, ever harm him. The Pride Landers... and now his very own Grandmother. To forgive such a being... that concept was almost beyond his grasp.

Almost.

Samehe didn't even need to pause before she nodded, looking intently at the li-tigon, knowing that his reaction to this could tell her much about him.

He seemed to have, however, no reaction. He seemed to freeze, as the power of that single, brief motion struck him. And then, the lioness could hardly believe her senses as her eyes widened, as she felt Freak pad over to her, and start to rub her with the blunt smoothness of his head.

"Thank you, Grandmother..." he said, in a voice so soft and gentle she would never have believed him capable of it.

The lioness opened her mouth, then closed it. She was going to ask Freak what he was thanking her for... but she understood.

"_If I can forgive Shere Kahn for what he did... can others forgive you for being who... what... you are?"_

She didn't know. And she, like every lion, every tiger, and some other beings, had felt evil in the world increasing, as if rising up to challenge the delicate balance of nature that allowed beings to grow, to live, to love.

But her forgiveness of her forced mate said that there was still hope. And Freak's sudden change, or rather growth, of a heart said that there was, perhaps, more than just a little hope for the world.

He didn't shed a tear. She didn't either. But he didn't break off from what he was doing too quickly, he nuzzled Samehe as long as he felt was necessary.

"_Maybe I've taught him to love family. Maybe I can teach him to love others. ...Sikia. Shindani. Adhabu. Msaka. There were never any males for you. But perhaps my grandson can fill that void in your hearts?"_

Perhaps he could. But perhaps something else could happen as well. The jealousy of a female is horrible, sometimes fatally so. But Freak... he could do anything. Anything that he set his heart to.

"_Emotions are strength. And if you feel deeply enough for some cause, then you'll have the strength to make it succeed... to blossom. Grandson... you must have a lot of love stored in your heart from never being able to release any of it."_

"Grandmother," Freak said, from several feet away from Samehe, as he was, oddly, in his strange variation of a Desert fighting stance, flanks low, shoulders high, paws wide apart, though the lioness knew that he was not, _could_ not, threaten her, not anymore, "...can you teach me to fight... as a Desert Warrior?"

Samehe seemed to think for a moment. And then, without any pretense, suddenly swatted at Freak with a blow that, if her claws at been extended, would have cut his ribs horrendously. But the li-tigon blocked it, and Samehe had to duck a hasty counter, a bite, or nip, in this case, aimed at the back of her head.

"Hmm..." she said, rather impressed, especially that Freak didn't resort to a linear Pride Lander tactic, like clouting her with the same paw he'd used to block her attack, or flick sand into her eyes as she would bet her life that he'd do if he wasn't trying to learn, as he put it, to fight like a Desert Warrior.

"I suppose I can," the Grandmother said, before proceeding to give the li-tigon a long lecture on the underlying basis of the Desert fighting style, even as midnight neared.

Cats can't write notes. But the way that Freak didn't seem to blink, didn't yawn, and didn't look away as he obediently listened to his grandmother, hanging onto her every word as Sikia did, coldly taking in their wisdom as Shindani did, considering how to apply them to his prowess as Msaka did, and realizing, as Adhabu did, that the purpose of fighting was never to harm or to kill... but rather to survive. And yet, there was a simple cubishness about the li-tigon that made Samehe wonder how he could have possibly gotten through life without anyone, anyone to tell him right from wrong, anyone to teach him to hunt, or anyone for him to curl up next to at night, to tell him that he was cared for, that he was loved.

"Grandmother," Freak said suddenly, as Samehe realized she'd been silent for a few moments, "...it's late. We should sleep. Tomorrow is important."

"_My first battle in a desert. Alongside Grandmother and the Desert Warriors. It's very important."_

"You're right, Grandson," Samehe said, slumping down at Freak's side, coincidentally to his south.

"_And tomorrow, we'll see if you can really fight like a Desert Warrior... the morning training session should let you know if you're capable of it or not. And after that... we'll see if your performance in battle will give us an idea... for a name. For you."_

"You won't have to be a freak anymore..." the lioness muttered, as she realized that Freak had moved around... so that he was in between her and the dogs of the Dark Forest.

"I'm proud to be your Granny Samehe."

* * *

(This chapter is in excess of eight thousand words. If you're still reading it now, then please, take the time to give back to the community and write a review. Because if you're still with me at this point, you obviously like this story. Remember, five reviews are needed to go on... al-Mujahid out.)


	13. All's Fair II: Love

The Lion King: The Freak  
Chapter 13: All's Fair II: Love

* * *

(Check out my Balto fanfiction. Read this alongside My Name Chapter Five. Sorry for the delay, what can I say...)

* * *

It had taken the Desert Warriors some time, and some awkward looks between each another before they all finally gave up on their individualized attempts to follow Samehe. Then, finally, they relaxed, trusting each another, and slept. Sikia was on her back, foot twitching slightly, inches from her sister, who was sleeping on her paws, growling softly now and then. Msaka and Adhabu weren't far from the sisters, with the darker lioness laying, half-awake, listening to the dusty tan huntress sleeping next to her.

Now and then, she clawed at the sandy, already rotting chunk of gazelle that was her meal, forcing herself to choke it down.

"_...Shindani's got Sikia. Sikia's got Shindani. Msaka's got her love of hunting, and when that's not enough, she's go t Sikia. Samehe's got all of us..."_

"_But I don't have anything. Or anyone."_

The thought didn't depress the dark lioness, and she licked some sandy blood from her paws and muzzle, thinking on.

"_And for some reason, I don't even feel like the rest of the Pride's alive. Samehe's grandson came from the Bloody Shadows, through the Lower Plains... damn. I just don't get the feeling he'd have missed them..."_

She sat around, for a long while, contemplating things. Oh, she rested, yes, but she didn't sleep. She couldn't—she hadn't been able to since she was tortured in the Dark Forest. And soon, she arrived at a conclusion.

"_Life for me's been nothing but pain. Msaka and Freak aren't the only ones who are named aptly,"_ she thought with a tired grin, as she rolled on her back to face the night sky.

She wanted, so desperately, to believe that somewhere, someone, anyone, was looking down on her, protecting her. But a moment later, the dark lioness turned away bitterly.

"_The others have gotten lucky... getting out of ambushes cause of a shift in wind, or having an enemy make a stupid mistake."_

"_But I haven't. Heck—I've had the opposite. Whenever I try to set up a trap for the dogs, the wind shifts, and blows my scent towards them, even if it's been constantly in the other direction for the whole day. Whenever I'm on a solo mission and try to retreat, their reconnaissance patrols come back right on top of me. I'm just like a vent for bad luck, and pain..."_

Adhabu realized that the sun had started to peek over the western edges of the Desert dunes. She yawned, and sat up, watching it rise, feelings its rays wash over her. It warmed her, physically, but the lioness was now quite certain that nothing could warm the frostiness in her heart.

"_It's a good thing that I care about these guys..."_ she said, smiling slightly, as Msaka stirred in her sleep slightly, brushing against her paw, _"I guess I'll hang around to keep them safe."_

Suddenly, Sikia awoke with a yawn, greeting the day with a smile, as well as whoever she happened to be around. Her optimism was almost infectious, even if she didn't rub her head all over the dark lioness's body.

"Mm... 'morning, Adhabu," she purred, before slumping over again, facing the west, yawning—Samehe would no doubt be back soon, unless Freak did something to her, and with the imminent battle today, the youngest Warrior needed her rest.

"'Morning, Sikia... how'dja sleep?" the dark lioness rasped, as if she was thirsty; but no, her voice always sounded like this.

"Meh... once I got to sleep, pretty good. Hey... you think Samehe's okay? She normally wakes us up with the sun."

"...Sure she's okay," the slightly older lioness said, though she looked away, and Sikia heard that quick pause before she spoke, "Maybe her grandson can beat her in the Jungle... but now, she's got the upper paw, and there's no way he can stand up to her."

Suddenly, the loud sounds of growling, hissing, roaring combat awoke all the warriors, and made them get to their feet. As one, they dashed up to the lip of the sand dune, and saw Freak, rolling along the Desert sand, fighting with Samehe.

"She's winning. Let's surround him in case he tries to escape. Mov—"

"Wait..." Sikia said, cutting off her sister, "...wait..."

The young lioness watched closely, as she and the rest of the Desert Warriors stood on the tips of their toes, barely holding back an attack.

"Look..."

Though the fight looked genuine, it was a mock-up. Don't misunderstand—it was not play, it was combat training. Claws were kept sheathed, death-giving blows held back, but blood was spilled, bruises dealt regardless.

Still, only a few moments later, the two combatants separated, both breathing heavily. They looked at each another with steely eyes, them calmed.

"Good job, grandson. You _almost_ had me," the lioness said, patronizingly—though the li-tigon had held his own for the first part of the fight, the silent part, when both had practiced the delicate art of quiet assault, his grandmother had clearly won: the powerful blow she'd allowed to glance off the back of his neck, the kick at his torso that would have gutted him if she'd extended her claws would both have either killed or incapacitated Freak.

And though both cats were winded and tired, they were both vitally alive. And Samehe couldn't conceal the fact that her grandson had given her one Helluva workout.

"Thank you," the li-tigon said simply, before he and Samehe started to walk towards the impressed Desert Warriors, "do you really think I'll be able to fight off the Dogs of the Dark Forest when the battle takes place in the Desert?"

"There's no question about that," said _Adhabu_, not Sikia, as the pair approached the other lionesses, "they're bad outside of their swamp, anyway... you're gonna kick some serious a—"

"ANYWAY," said Sikia loudly, "that was really impressive, Freak. Hmm... yep. We certainly need to think of a new name for you. Anyone got an idea for one?"

One by one, the Desert Warriors shook their heads. Samehe, on the other hand, looked just as passively apathetic as her grandson generally did. But the truth was that both were thinking of the same name, though they didn't know it.

"Well," said Shindani with a shrug, "who knows, maybe in the heat of battle, one'll just come to you, right?"

"...Right..." said Msaka, "anyone hungry? I don't think there are any gazelles left... but there might be a couple of ostriches to the north. Not much, but still..."

"No, there's no time," said Samehe with a sigh, and, from her body language, everyone present could tell she was going to make the announcement that Freak's appearance had interrupted.

The li-tigon understood as well, and padded over to sit down among the Desert Warriors, in between Adhabu and Msaka, specifically, and sat, ears erect, facing his grandmother.

"I found out where they're hiding the Lord of the Forest."

The Desert Warriors visibly bristled at that. Though they'd never even seen the leader of their enemies, they'd managed to press a few details out of the mouths of dying dogs. He was, supposedly, neither a tyrant nor a pacifist. When the war had started over a border dispute, all those years ago, he had held a vote on whether to fight or cede the land to the Desert Pride. There were few votes to the latter.

Don't misunderstand—he wasn't the kind of fool to risk his own life by personally engaging the lions. He was the realistic kind of leader, who knew that his life was better used in careful, strategic planning—planning that could keep his brothers and sisters, not subordinates, alive.

"Really? Where?" asked Shindani, quickly.

"He's not in the southernmost part of the Forest, farthest from us, like we had though. He's in the west."

"Have you ever been to the west part of the Forest?" asked Sikia, tilting her head in curiosity.

The old lioness shook her head curtly.

"No. That's why they've hid him there—aside from being packed with dogs, there are the natural boundaries to think of. You all have been in the Wet Forest, a little bit, perhaps a hundred yards. Aside from you, of course," she gestured to her grandson.

The Desert Warriors nodded back, a little sadly. Though the dogs had made advance after advance into their territory, and they lost some of the Desert almost every battle, they'd only made a real offensive once. And it hadn't gone well—a pack of dogs had circled around them, and rather than attack the Desert Warriors, had attacked the aging male and his mates. It was almost a disaster—two lionesses were killed, and the alpha had barely held them off.

(NOTE: when I say pigs, I'm not referring to cute little things like Pumba. Ever heard of Hogzilla?)

"But the western part of it... heheh... there are sudden pools of water with no visible bottom. Quicksand is everywhere. There are crabs, that live in colonies, like ants... I've seen them tear apart a pig in seconds. Oh, pigs are what the dogs eat mostly... there are many of them. But it's easy to see why dogs only target them out of complete desperation: they are like us, adapted to taking prey together. Of course, there are outliers," Samehe shrugged at Msaka, "but we hunt best together, when we can surround our prey and defeat it through sheer force. However... if we were impossibly to find a way to sneak up on a pig, and kill it... we could use them as food. Because when pigs are surrounded..." the old lioness gave another dark chuckle, "they can dangerous."

"Grandmother..." said Freak, "I... raised myself in the Jungle. Not only did I have to take prey alone... I found that, if I'm forced to... I don't hunt like lions. It could be because of what Grandfather was."

"Is that so... well, if we manage to push the dogs out of the Desert, I'll keep that in mind."

A chuckle rolled through the group, except, of course, for the li-tigon, who only shrugged.

"So..." said Adhabu, "we know where the Lord of the Dark Forest is. But you just told us all about how dangerous it is... what can we do about it? I mean... we can't even get around in the normal part of the Wet Forest easily," she rasped, "so how can we get there... without them noticing? Because, sorry for the language, if we get caught there, we're fucked."

"You're right," said Samehe, "but there's little that you can't learn. You're strong," the old lioness said, looking at her grandson, and each of the Desert Warriors, ending on Adhabu, looking squarely at the dark lioness, "which is why today, while you four battle, me and my Grandson will go into the Dark Forest. Maybe even the Western Forest. We'll learn how to get around there... and then he'll take turns teaching the rest of you. ...You're a good fighter, Grandson," Samehe said, "but if these four go without me for some time... there won't be much of the Desert left to defend. Each of us were necessary every single day, and even then, we've only slowed the dogs. We've never stopped them. And I don't know that we ever will... it's been too long. We have to assume that the rest of our pride has either been forced out of the area, or k—... or killed."

Samehe's expression was unreadable as she looked down, eyes shadowed. The Desert Warriors tensed, their breaths catching in their throats. They'd been fighting and risking their lives for so long now, motivated by the idea that even if they died, their family, at least, would live on.

But that didn't seem to be the case...

Freak had told his grandmother about the strange way the scent of lions had simply led to the Bloody Shadows... and vanish. And the very name of the place offered an explanation as to what had happened to them.

"So once all of us are capable of getting around in the western Forest..." said Freak, as he tilted his head to the side, "what do we do with the Lord of the Forest? Killing him will only escalate the war..."

"You're right," Samehe sighed, "we're going to capture him, and force a truce. We can peaceably coexist..."

But that rung false. All the Desert Warriors knew it—there was too much hate between the Forest and the Desert for peace to ever last for long, at least, as long as both sides lived.

"Or we could force them to go... somewhere. I don't know where," said Shindani.

"But... we can't possibly hold the Lord! They'll try to get him back..." Sikia said, ears flattening to the back of her head—she didn't know what they could do, but taking the leader of their enemies hostage.

"I know. I know. But we can't just do nothing. We have to try to take him... because we can't hold out for much longer," the old lioness said.

"In case you haven't noticed, cubbies, I'm not getting any younger," Samehe said, looking at her troops confidently, not an inkling of fear in her aged, but strong eyes, "I've got maybe a year left in me at the most. And what happens after that? Sure, you guys should be able to hold off the enemy... but soon enough, they'll be able to overpower you. We could never win this war from the beginning," the lioness sighed, a great burden leaving her shoulders as she admitted that, "not if we fought force-to-force. No... now, we have to fight dirty, and pray that it works out. This isn't a risky tactic," she growled, "this is desperation."

There was a long moment of tense, awkward silence. Not even Sikia dared to say something to break it.

"Grandmother... this isn't necessary," Freak said, "join me in the Jungle. It's safe... there are no other predators there. There should be enough food for us all. You're all welcome to my home," the li-tigon said, glancing around at the Desert Warriors.

The old lioness froze.

"No. No. Never. This Desert is our home," she said, almost growling, "we will _never_ abandon it."

"Grandmother..." Freak said slowly, calmly, sitting, even as the Desert Warriors drew away at the glare their leader directed at him, "you can abandon the Desert. Or you can abandon any hope for a peaceful life. It's your decision... and I'll support it."

"_My home isn't a home without others to make it _feel_ like home. And I don't believe that Mother or Father will ever visit me again... we did not part on good terms."_

The li-tigon's last thought made him feel a pang of guilt that didn't show on his deep tan, striped face.

"...My decision stands," said Samehe, trying to sound as authoritative as possible, "the Desert is our home, and we will not abandon it, unless we are faced with no other option. And now, we are faced with an opportunity to end this war. No, Grandson, we will defeat our enemy. Mark my words," the old lioness expounded, practically growling, "within a month, we will capture the Lord of the Forest."

The Desert Warriors visibly tensed at that. That promise was reckless at best, suicidal at worst They'd scarcely set a single paw into the Dark Forest for their entire lifetimes... but no Samehe expected them to learn to get around in its most unnavigable area, silently, and _then_ capture their enemies' single most-defended asset?

"Samehe..." said Adhabu, in an uncharacteristically soft voice, "the Desert is our home because the ones we love lived here. But now that that's no longer the case—"

"Enough!" said the old lioness loudly, with just the hint of a snarl in her voice, "we will dishonor the memories of our entire pride if we do not defend their home! Our alpha may and his mates may have died... but so long as a single Desert Warrior raises a paw against the enemy dogs, our pride, us, the Desert Pride, is not dead. So do your duty," Samehe's voice had gone from vaguely aggressive to somewhat motherly and supportive so quickly, "and don't allow the Desert Pride to die. Not today."

Freak closed his eyes, and let out a long sigh. He didn't completely understand the ideals of honor; all he saw were ways to stay alive, because for so long, that had been his only goal. Perhaps, though, Samehe knew that there was more to life? The li-tigon trusted his Grandmother... but this, this just didn't seem like a good way to stay alive.

"Come, Grandson. Warriors... we can't afford to lose more than five hundred yards this day. Can you hold the dogs of the Wet Forest back?"

The lionesses' answer was not verbal. Together, they assumed their similar, but slightly different fighting stances, and made their loud, triumphant roars roll throughout the Desert...

Samehe smiled once, confidently, before she jerked her head, gesturing Freak to walk with her. The dogs' front lines were only a mile away. They could be easily passed; however, once the two cats entered the Wet Forest, the real fun would begin...

* * *

"Down," said Samehe, and both she and her Grandson immediately dove beneath the surface of the Desert.

Twenty seconds later, a patrol of dogs, three or four of them walked by. All were nervous, and all were paying close attention.

"_They're bigger and stronger than hyenas. And it looks like they have better teamwork too... it really would be hard to kill them. I wonder how many there are?"_ the li-tigon thought.

"Alright... they've gone. Let's go above ground now, while we can... the front should be a few dunes away. We'll go under them, then travel through the swamp on foot," said Samehe, as she peeked her head out of the sand, shaking some of it off from her head.

"Yes, Grandmother," Freak murmured.

Together, they padded along as silently as possible. The lioness held out a paw to signal for Freak to halt, which he did. His ears remained perked up, however, and he watched as his grandmother approached the next dune cautiously. She looked over it, just a little, then moved back.

"That's the front... there are a dozen dogs, we can't afford to try to take them out quietly. At most, we'll be able to take out three without anyone noticing... but then, the alarm will get raised after they're missed," Samehe whispered, "we'll go under them... but be careful. Their sentries are very, very observant, and it'll be difficult for _two_ big cats to get past them."

"We can do it..." Freak said, before sliding into the Desert again.

* * *

"Stay frosty, soldiers... they could attack at any moment."

The eleven other dogs didn't flinch, didn't turn, didn't give a single signal of acknowledgment. Their leader, an older dog; not a decrepit one, but rather, an experienced fighter, grinned once: his subordinates really had their minds in the game, they hadn't even noticed he'd said a word.

"_They'll get old too fast... I'll give them a little shock..."_

The older dog stood a few feet behind his troops. He took in a long, deep breath, trying to keep from laughing as he did so... this would make his subordinates jump right out of their skins.

"OH MY GOD, SAMEHE'S RIGHT BEHIND YOU!"

Time seemed to slow down for the pack leader. He was able to watch, with hilarity, as the other dogs jumped, dove, and spun around, their tongues flapping out of their mouth at the speed of their motions in their effort to engage the apparent threat—

But the younger canines merely growled in disappointment as their leader lay on his back, laughing his tail off.

"With all due respect, _sir_," fumed one gray and black-spotted dog, "any distraction could spell our deaths, or the deaths of any number of our friends. It's—"

"Oh, come off it," said the alpha, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye, "come on... think about it," he said patronizingly, looking at his troops with disdain for their tight-assedness in his eyes, "just what are the odds that anything has happened in those ten seconds?"

* * *

"What an idiot," chuckled Samehe, several hundred yards and a few minutes later, as she rose from the Desert's sands and gave her self a shake, "I wonder what he'd do if he found out that I really was right behind them?"

"What exactly was the purpose of that foolish display?" said a muffled voice to the lioness's left, until her li-tigon grandson crawled his way to the Desert's surface, "it served no function that I could understand."

The lioness merely shrugged, and turned to face the foreboding Forest in front of them. She could only see perhaps a dozen yards into it—vines, trees, and all manner of moss and other foliage gave the Dark Forest a visibility range of no farther than fifteen or so yards, at best.

"Grandson, pay attention," she said, speaking with great intensity, "this place is, no doubt, unlike the Jungle. You will have to follow my lead closely, and obey all orders immediately and completely, even if they seem foolish or crazy. The alternative is death, or capture. Is that understood?" she asked, managing to not sound condescending or domineering.

"Of course, Grandmother," the li-tigon said, with his ears perked up.

Samehe gave a slow, approving nod to her grandson, and then started to move carefully into the Wet Forest. The ground was muddy, though the dense goo often suddenly have way to puddles of water, making speedy travel impossible—it was a natural area-denial measure. Apart from the ground, a disquieting smell of rot and decay filled both cats' nostrils.

Still, by sticking to he shadows and pausing every so often, to become one with the Forest, as Freak might put it, they made good progress and went by totally unnoticed, though it was rare to see many dogs around.

The li-tigon was paying close, close attention, to the point where a fly couldn't land without him noticing it and reacting. Samehe approved of this, and yet, after a full hour of trudging through the swamp, the silence got a little oppressive.

"Grandson..." the lioness said softly, and Freak made a grunt of acknowledgment as he plodded up to the lioness's side, "the Pride Landers... what are they doing right now?"

The li-tigon visibly shuddered, and didn't speak for a long moment.

"_I abandoned them. They... were family. They wanted me. They needed me. They loved me. And... I needed them..."_

"_Maybe, someday soon, when Grandmother sees the utter pointlessness of this war... perhaps all of the living members of the Desert Pride can make a new home, and have new lives, in the Pride Lands?"_

Freak sighed, and Samehe paused at that, so that her grandson was ahead of her by several yards before he, too halted.

"I don't know."

* * *

"This is it!" Simba yelled, "we've made it!"

The Lion King's face turned into a snarl nonetheless—though they were on the home stretch, on the cusp of survival. The end was in sight, literally, only a hundred yards away. And yet, every time one of his padded paws struck the surface of the molten lake, they burned...

"I'm sorry, son," said an exhausted voice to the tan lion's right, "I can't go any further..."

Simba looked just in time to see his mother, his poor, injured mother start to slip...

"NO!"

The Royal family managed to support Sarabi, barely. They sprinted along, a jumble of limbs, closely followed by the hyenas and the few lionesses that had managed to hold on—

They broke free of the lava, but were moving too fast to quickly stop. One by one, all the Pride Landers overshot the level portion of the Western Volcanoes, and tumbled, down, down, down, for hundreds of yards until they smashed into the Jungle's familiar trees, and stopped.

Dazed, Simba managed to get to his feet.

"Sound off... who's not dead..." he panted, grimacing in pain at his severely burned paws, before slumping over and licking at them to cool them down.

The tan lion listened to the series of groans and grunts of pain—all the hyenas had survived. They'd lost many lionesses, but there were a good half-dozen left. The Royal Family was okay...

"My paw..." whispered Sarabi, "it's..."

When Simba looked over at his mother, he had to stop himself from retching. The old matriarch's paw was burned _off_, cauterized the instant it slipped below the surface of the lava. No pain showed on her face... the lava was so hot that it had burned away her nerve before it could relay its message of agonizing pain to her brain.

"You're okay. You're alright," said the Lion King, as if he was convincing himself of that, "you can still walk, right?"

Sarabi then got to her feet, and tried to... she could. But she wasn't nearly as fast or agile as she had been mere hours ago.

Simba sighed, then looked to the East. The Jungle, to all outward appearances, was the same. And yet, the Lion King had to suppress a shudder as he peered into its densely-packed forests and thick, wet-looking shrubs.

It had rained recently.

And yet, though the water had cleansed the Jungle of the dirt and grime of the past few days, it had failed to wash away the traces of one creature.

"Uncle Simba?" said a voice to the Lion King's relative rear, "do you think that—"

"It doesn't matter," said Kiara shortly, cutting Uvuli off, "he doesn't care about us anymore. It's his fault that we're in this mess right now," the lioness said, attempting to be angry.

However, her expression was one of barely concealed sadness, as she looked at her grandmother's paw; or rather, lack thereof. The old lioness's stump made her look like an amputee... but Sarabi looked at her granddaughter with disappointment.

"Kiara," she said sharply, and the young lioness looked up, "don't think that this little injury will stop me from living the remainder of my life to the fullest. Get it?" she demanded, "and don't talk about your father's cousin in that manner. He's our warrior," the old matriarch said, with more than the hint of a snarl on her lips.

The youngest lioness was taken aback, so much so that Kovu waved a paw in front of her staring gaze to make sure that she was still really with them.

"...Warrior?" Kiara asked blankly after a moment, tilting her head at her grandmother, then parents, then the rest of the older Pride members.

"Cub," Tanga said, sighing somewhat, licking his paws to cool them off, "ever heard of the Gemini Theory?"

(I just had the biggest brain-blast here.)

* * *

"Grandmother?" Freak asked softly, tilting his head at his paws, his brow furrowing somewhat, "why am I sinking?"

Samehe's breath caught in her throat.

"Don't. Move," she said, in a strange tone halfway in between terror and anger, "I'll get you out of it."

The li-tigon's first instinct was, in fact, to move, and to move quickly, to step out of the thick, sludgy, mud-like substance that seemed to drag him downwards. But he froze.

"Grandmother," the li-tigon suddenly said sharply; unable to turn his head, "dogs."

Samehe looked up, holding several vines, and froze.

"Son of a bitch..."

No, literally.

* * *

"So, how're your cubs, Hakir?" asked the slightly younger, thinner dog, as they made their way through the northern central part of the swamp; the part most notorious for quicksand slicks aside from the impassible west.

"They're doing well..." the older, more hard-looking canoid said, and glanced over at his comrade, "isn't it incredible that even in this terrible war, life and love blossom? Even now, amidst all this chaos, cubs can be raised...?"

The younger dog's face took on a lopsided smile, and he chuckled once at his de facto mentor.

"You're a real poet. I see why love blossoms for you," the other dog said, before looking down.

"Hey... Khati... cheer up," Hakir said, his hard, battle-scarred shoulder just toching the younger male's; that iota of physical contact speaking what even the romantic couldn't express in words, "love blossoms for everyone."

Khati turned to face his comrade. His fur was a monotonous shade of brown, compared to Hakir's patchwork of black, gray, and olive, and his eyes were as mundanely black as Hakir's were inspiringly green. But the far side of his face, the side that had been invisible to Hakir until now... was scared. Not like the battle souvenirs that Hakir and many older dogs wore, no. It was a terrible, ragged wound, the only visible reminder of what he'd suffered, as a cub, at the paws of the Slayer of the Desert... the cruel, merciless Samehe.

"...Even for a freak?"

Hakir faced his young companion without flinching or looking away, and yet, without staring at his horrible injury.

"Even for a freak."

* * *

"They're getting closer..." the li-tigon murmured, "and I'm still sinking..."

"Shush!" Samehe hissed, and Freak fell silent, even as the quicksand dragged him deeper, and deeper...

He jerked his head to the sky, and that motion cost him several inches, several inches straight down int the muck. Leaves fell down all around him, and on top of him, and a thick, tough vine was thrown just next to his jaw—

Samehe was hidden, out of sight, but as Freak caught the rope in his muzzle, he felt tension stop him from sinking. It was hard, though; almost his full body weight had to be supported by his teeth, and, just to complicate things, the dogs had decided to walk just in front of Freak, and stop.

The li-tigon could hear their voices, could even see their clawed paws underneath his leafy cover. Freak prayed that a stray breeze didn't expose him, because if it did, the alarm would be raised... Samehe would be forced to retreat, because even if she stayed, Freak would be doomed, there were no two ways about that. All he could do was hold on to his life line, and keep silent... but it was hard. To become one with a terrain he'd just entered was a lot to ask, even for the former leader of the group that had utterly destroyed the Bloody Shadows...

To anyone's knowledge, anyway.

Freak had to hold his breath, and clenched his jaws tightly around the vine, forcing himself to be both still and silent, even as the force pulling him downwards became almost unbearable.

Finally, the dogs moved on, scouting out further north. Freak carefully tracked them by scent and sound until they were three hundred yards away, and dared to mutter a single word, trusting the swamp to dampen his voice and keep it from carrying off.

"Grandmother..."

Suddenly, the tension on the vine tightened, and Freak had to bite down harder, literally for his life. He heard his grandmother grunt with effort, and slowly, shakily, the li-tigon was pulled from a crushing, earily demise.

Samehe panted, standing next to a tree that she'd wrapped the vine around to save her effort when the dogs were hanging around. When the lioness looked up, she couldn't suppress a grin, and spoke with a palatable waver in her voice.

"Heheh... you're filthy."

Freak looked down at his burlap-colored fur, and let out a sign of disappointment. Mud, and little bits of decaying plant matter clung onto his tawny form, curdling into little, unclean balls of semi-solid goo. He half-heartedly started to lick himself clean, but quickly gave up, spitting the quicksand from his maw, much to Samehe's audible amusement.

"Hahaha... hey, wait, no, let me—ack!"

Now it was the li-tigon's turn to be amused as he hunched his shoulders down, then shook himself rapidly. Mud and who knew what else flew everywhere, splattering all over the Dark Forest, as well as Samehe. The Slayer caught a faceful of mud, and gave her grandson a look that made it clear that this offense would not be forgotten.

"Come on, Granny Samehe," the li-tigon said, a strange, vaguely playful element in his voice, as if it was normal for him to be faced with a near-death situation, "we need to go west."

* * *

"Alright guys... this is it," said Sikia, smiling widely at her friends, "the big day. What we've all been training and waiting for. This is—"

"Oh, come on, we've fought without Samehe before," Shindani interrupted, "we can hold them off. We have to."

Msaka made no verbal reply to that. She merely nodded, and Adhabu didn't even do that, as she looked at her long, blackened claws.

"Let's just go," the dark lioness rasped, "the dogs aren't gonna wait for us."

* * *

"Alright guys... this is it," said the tough, old dog, as he walked in front of a dozen of the Forest Stalkers, the finest fighters from the land to the south of the Desert, "the big day. What we've all been training and waiting for. This is—"

"Hey, asshole," called a voice to his rear, and the charcoal-colored canine turned, growling instantly, "you gonna talk all day, surrender, or are we gonna fight?"

The Forest Stalkers acted as trained, and said nothing. However, as one, all of their ears perked up in perfect unison. They'd all been trained for years now—they were selected at birth, when the war was still young, and there was still hope for some kind of end to it. They were the strongest, fastest, and smartest cubs, and had been taught specifically how to attack lions. They learned from the best, the most experienced war veterans after they were too old to fight, and had practiced specifically in group-based attacks. Normally, the dogs' tactics mirrored those of the fighting style of hyenas—rush, and pummel your opponent with as many blows as it takes for them to stop moving.

But the Forest Stalkers were different. They would surround, yes, but then perform group-based maneuvers, the likes of which had never been seen before.

It was an added benefit that Samehe seemed to be absent.

"Your words are venomous, young lioness," the Forest Stalker's leader said coolly, in _just_ the manner Samehe might have, "but without your leader, the Slayer of the Desert, the murderer of dozens of our kind, can you back them up?"

"Don't you worry about where Samehe is, you sick bastard," growled Adhabu, recognizing this particular dog as being among the party that had tortured her, "with or without her, I'm gonna rip you apart," she threatened, and lowered herself into a fighting stance, as Msaka, Shindani, and Sikia did the same.

"Is that so, little kitty?" the dog asked dangerously, "we'll see. But I'm willing to bet that when push comes to shove, all you'll be able to do is beg that we let you go, and take someone else instead..."

There. Adhabu's dark secret was revealed. But who could blame her? She was just a cub when it had happened, and, out of desperation, had begged, even as the dogs forced her head into the swamp water for the hundredth time, that she be released... that perhaps someone else could replace her.

With a roar of agony, the dark lioness rushed forward. There was no tangible pause as her comrades joined her, but their eyes flickered to her more than they might have, even as the distance between the Desert Warriors and the Forest Stalkers closed.

The leading dog merely held his position, then murmured something. And from behind him, the younger canines exploded into action, their claws tearing the Desert apart as they raced towards their enemies—

* * *

It was tough going, as was expected. Several times, Samehe and Freak had to take the long way around a particularly nasty-looking bit of swamp; either because it was infested with insects, quicksand, or just didn't feel safe.

Freak had experienced only small, cute-looking lizards and amphibians in the Jungle, and yes, sometimes made a meal out of them, especially in his younger days. But here, iguanas and monitor lizards that were big enough to threaten, he thought with a pang, Uvuli—or at least, the Uvuli he remembered.

The li-tigon had no reason to attack them, after all, he'd just eaten. However, he wondered why the dogs didn't...

"They're poisonous," Samehe said, following the gaze of her grandson, careful to speak softly, "they won't kill you, though... they paralyze you if you eat them. It's not always permanent... but you become a burden to anyone who cares if you try to eat them. It's very effective," the lioness said emotionlessly, "a shame that we can't harness such power."

"It's impossible to gain... resistance to it?" Freak asked quietly, padding along next to his grandmother.

"I don't know. But I wouldn't risk it," the lioness said thoughtfully, "especially not now. Though, perhaps, if we captured a dog, and showed that it's possible for them to consume lizards... perhaps this war could end in that manner."

"I don't think so," the li-tigon said, as he calmly stepped over a spined, hissing frog-like being, "there aren't many of them. Not enough to feed all of the dogs, anyway."

"So you agree that this war is necessary," Samehe said slyly, making her grandson pause his speech, even as they slowed their pace, sensing the presence of dogs, lots of them, close by.

"Maybe not..." the li-tigon murmured, as he and his grandmother moved on, very quietly, looking into the distance on a very private, very special scene.

There was a dog, or rather, a pup. A very, very young one, perhaps only a few days old. He, or she, was just learning to walk. Only the cub's mother was present, and Freak guessed that its father was either off battling, patrolling... or had been killed.

Even Samehe was touched. Her face tightened and she swallowed, but couldn't bring herself to look away.

"_War is Hell."_

After what felt like a long time, the mother picked her cub up by the scruff of its neck, and happily carried it off to the east, past Freak and his grandmother.

Immediately, Samehe was on her feet, heading towards the west again. But she paused.

"Grandson, come! We have only a few hours to practice moving around in the Dark Forest," she hissed.

"Coming..." the li-tigon said.

Suddenly, the old lioness tilted her head. What on Earth was Freak rubbing at in the corner of his eye?

* * *

The Desert Warriors and the Forest Stalkers met with all the force of two freight trains running into each another at full speed. Instantly, the Desert Warriors realized that these dogs were not like the others—normally, battles opened with the lionesses instantly getting at least a few good hits on their enemies.

But the Forest Stalkers were almost untouchable. Every time a Warrior lashed out with a claw strike, the dog either blocked it or evaded. And the lionesses dared not try for a bite; that move was too slow to commit to, and being that they were, as always, outnumbered, another enemy would find it painfully easy to slice their throats.

And yet, the Desert Warriors didn't take any injuries either. They did lose ground, though, at an almost alarming rate...

"Shit," Shindani hissed, as the lionesses backed into a circle, glaring at their enemies, but receiving only blank stares in return, "this isn't good. Just hold out for a while, guys," she snarled, holding her ground, as the rest of the lionesses looked around nervously, "Samehe will be back soon. Freak too."

* * *

"Welcome to the west Dark Wet Forest," Samehe said bitterly, as it began to rain; the sky's water disappating as it struck the Forest's trees ran along their bark in thick torrents of muddy green water.

Every now and then, a sloshing sound was heard, as the water found a path down below the surface of the swamp; who knew how far down. At first, grandson and grandmother trudged through the area carefully, but safely. But then, they were forced to pause as a _vast_ vat of stinking quicksand appeared in front of them, half-concealed by entire trees that it had managed to consume.

"Prime area for a colony of predators," Freak murmured, as he and Samehe looked for a path through the hazard, "if they know how to keep low-key, they can use the sand to their advantage, and trap prey with ease. If there are enough of them..."

"Hold that thought."

The lioness looked _just_ next to her paw. There was a hole in the ground, a small one, just about the size of half of her paw. And then, the cats realized that all around them, there were many, many more holes... Freak cocked his head, but then heard the sound of a _million_ small, skittering legs.

"Crabs," Samehe explained, as she grew pale, "I have to—"

"No," the li-tigon said softly, "too late. Stay still."

"What, are you crazy? I have to get out of here! I'll—"

Samehe attempted to leap away, but her grandson had somehow managed to hold her still. His darker paws wrapped around the lioness, then slowly relaxed, as Samehe resigned herself to her fate.

"Relax..." the li-tigon practically purred, "become one with the environment... you're part of this land. You're not Samehe, the Desert's Slayer. You're a component of the Dark Forest..."

The lioness dared to tilt her head. And there was Freak, standing still, but not completely—his breathing and heart rate dropped, as he became practically comatose. Samehe's ears perked up as she was unable to hear the sound of his heart, his lungs anymore...

And then, as the skittering became louder still, Samehe forced herself to calm.

"_I may as well die the way he wants me to."_

Impossibly, the lioness registered that the skittering became _even louder_, to the point that it was nearly deafening. But she didn't move, hardly breathed... and felt nothing.

Crabs are incredibly adaptable creatures. They live in the deepest, darkest oceans; and still, survive on land, in lakes, in mountains, in forests, in rivers. They're strong, hardy animals; armed with potentially dangerous claws, and thick, tough armor.

In the opinion of al-Mujahid, they're also delicious when you grind them up into little bitty pieces and bake them into cakes.

Dark Forest Crabs are similar, but, as with everything in the Land of the Great Spirits, a little different. They aren't sentient, of course, but rather, have a _nearly_ sentient hive-mind. Call it collective consciousness, call it telepathy, but Forest Crabs can work as a team or alone—they can flank, surround, retreat, get reinforcements, storm an enemy, set up ambushes and even traps. They're camouflaged brown with greenish stripes and splotches; though their claws are red. Their feet end in razor-sharp points and can be used as weapons themselves.

About a hundred of those feet were crawling over each Samehe and Freak at any given time.

And yet, even as the nests of crabs came alive; as the little, vicious animals searched for what had dared to disturb their home, neither cat budged.

And soon, the collective mind of the crabs decided that it was time to give up the search; that the intruder had gone...

With ten seconds, every crab had vanished from the Forest. Freak allowed himself to wake from his semi-conscious state, slightly, and dared to glance at his grandmother—they were far from out of trouble yet.

"On my mark," the lioness managed to murmur, "run. Over the quicksand. Sprint. If we move fast enough, it'll act like solid ground. I showed you a pig's track's earlier, run on your paws so that they look like that, the crabs are coming, GO!"

Samehe didn't yell, of course. Her final word was spoken, as opposed to whispered. But in comparison to the silence that the cats had communicated in for the entire day, it was ear-shattering.

Freak and his grandmother exploded out of their still positions. The crabs had perked up again, so to speak, when Samehe had started to whisper. And even as the lioness and her grandson got into motion, they felt prickling sensations at their feet.

Of course, the crabs were thrown off the second that the cats went into action, scattered to sink, struggling into the same quicksand that Samehe and Freak were barely crossing.

"Grandmother... this may be a bad time," the li-tigon panted, "but you didn't show me a pig's tracks. I have no idea what they look like."

"Just imitate mine!" Samehe hissed, tiring; they had to move _fast_ in order to make the quicksand act solid.

"I am. But it's hard to see when we're running like this..."

The cats then jumped together, and made it out of the quicksand. Their paws were filthy, a mark of just how close they'd come to falling to a slow, terrible death.

"Stop whining..." Samehe panted, though, as she looked back, she had to inwardly compliment her grandson on how perfectly his tracks mimicked hers, "...nice job."

"We should kill a pig," Freak panted, "eat some of it, and then get it over to the crabs' nest. That way, the marks won't look suspicious... it'll be like two pigs got past, by using the death of their friend as cover."

"That's true," the lioness said, speaking quietly again, before she sniffed and looked around suspiciously—the cats were still alone, thank the Spirits— "but how are we going to get the pig over there, without circling around, _and_ without getting eaten alive?"

Freak paused, and looked around. Vines were dangling down from the Dark Forests gnarled, flaky-baked trees, even as the mist and rain continued to softly drizzle down. The li-tigon carefully padded over to one vine, and placed his paw in its loop. He gave it a tug, and nothing happened. Then, he tugged it harder, and felt resistance. Freak then pulled _hard_, then released the plant structure, hearing an elastic sound as it twang back into its original position, quavering with minute vibrations.

"This is going to sound crazy..." the hybrid said, as he faced his grandmother.

* * *

There were three pigs. A mother, and her two children. They were part of the same "pack", a loose group of animals that clung together for mutual protection and profit. Both of the younger pigs were easily old enough to go out and about on their own, which they usually did—but in the course of their rummaging in the Forest for food, they'd come across one another, and had decided, without discussion, to accompany each another—the dogs had become increasingly desperate of late, and it paid to stick together when possible.

And so they made their way through the Dark Forest, keeping their eyes open for any sign of danger. Their cloven feet imprinted deeply in the swamps of the Forest as they paused, every now and then, to gnaw at a soft plant or tasty little morsel of meat—a rat or perhaps a clump of worms.

The mother was the largest of the trio, at the size of large hyena—about the size of Shenzi. She was armed, as were all pigs, with dense muscle that protected her vital organs, as well as two pairs of sharp, tough tusks, perfect for inflicting grievous injuries onto anything in the Dark Forest.

The two younger hogs looked away, for the moment, hearing something in the distance. The mother knew better, however, than to worry about something that she had no reason to worry about.

However, by the time the two pigs looked back... their companion had vanished.

* * *

Samehe gave her grandson a look that said that he had no sense... and therefore, no mental blocks to doing things that others might consider ridiculous.

Of course, Freak didn't look down to guage the old lioness's reaction. He was somewhat occupied. After all, he was bound in tough, stretchy vines, and had to kill an animal that was half his size, while it struggled ferociously... silently.

The li-tigon's jaws were clamped around his victim's neck, but it just wouldn't stop fighting. Freak felt muscle ripple around his teeth, and realize that he wasn't breaking through the pig's tough muscle.

He steeled himself, and bit down harder than he ever had needed to before. His razor-sharp teeth exerted massive amounts of pressure onto and _into_ his prey. Finally, Freak felt the boar's muscle shred apart in his jaws, just the way it was supposed to.

Fortunately, the li-tigon had managed to position himself just so, so that no blood spilled down to the swamp floor. Working quickly, giving the boar's neck a jerk just to make sure that it was dead, Freak pulled her eyes shut and began to undo the vines from all four of his appendages, using his jaws as well as his paws.

Then, he had the difficult task of tying up the pig to share with his grandmother, who'd managed to sneak in between the two younger pigs as they looked around stupidly for their companion.

"This is crazy," the lioness mouthed, before she used her teeth to pull a knot tight around a large branch.

Freak merely looked back at his grandmother, and shrugged once. Then, he motioned for her to push the pig into place, while he went off into another tree; silent as always.

Samehe nudged the dead animal into position, then got well out of the way. She shook her head at the sight before her...

There was an elastic twang as Freak released the vines he'd pulled back with his teeth. The pig was launched through the air, over the massive quicksand pit and directly onto the largest crab hole, where it was, within seconds, swarmed...

The two other pigs looked on in a stupor, before cautiously, carefully backing away, then dashing off into the underbrush.

Freak's paws hit the ground softly, and he looked up at his grandmother with a strange expression on his face.

"I think I can get around in the west Forest alright..." he murmured, before moving off farther to the west still, "I wonder how the Desert Warriors are doing..."

* * *

Dusk was approaching. The sun would set in perhaps an hour, and already, it seemed to be pulling all the color from the world with it as it sank in the sky.

The Desert Warriors were all standing in a rough line. They were exhausted; sweaty, panting, and each carried several fresh cuts.

The Forest Stalkers, on the other hand, were barely winded. Still, they'd taken a fair bit of damage themselves. And in the dark, the lionesses would have the advantage. And the close dusk got, the more that advantage became apparent, to the point that the Warriors were not only stonewalling the advances of the dogs, but pushing them back.

"_So... even without Samehe, the Desert Kitties can hold back a dozen Forest Stalkers. Well, I wonder how they'll hold up against _two_ dozen Forest Stalkers..."_

"Desert K—Warriors," the pack leader said maliciously, as he walked calmly just in front of his troops, "I must admit, I'm impressed with you. Even without your murderous leader, you have resisted the best efforts of our finest fighters."

"But now," the dog said gravely, though his eyes sparkled with anger, "your little insurrection is at an end," the Warriors growled loudly; their war degraded to the level of an insurrection?!... "surrender—and your lives will be spared."

Even Sikia's expression was ugly. Msaka wore an angry, toothy snarl, and Adhabu's expression was one of pure hate. Shindani spoke up, growling as she spat each word from her maw.

"We're going to go on to the end. We'll fight in the Unexplored Regions, we'll fight on the sands and grass of this Land. We're going to defend our Desert, whatever the cost is. We'll fight on the beaches, we shall fight in the dunes, we'll fight in the dark, the light, and any time in between. We'll _never_ surrender!"

(Shindani's a good speaker. Almost as good as Winston Churchill...)

The dog gave a dramatic, falsified sigh. His eyes were shadowed as he faced the ground, the waning sun beating down on his furred back.

"So be it," he said, then spoke to the Forest Stalkers, "exterminate them from the face of this Earth."

The Desert Warriors prepared for the frontal assault as they had before. But as the Forest Stalkers, at least, the ones they could see, approached, they hesitated, swearing that they heard something underneath them...

Then, all at once, all four lionesses were forced to jump away as another dozen of their adversaries broke free from the sand and launched into the air, just where they had stood milliseconds earlier. The Warriors hit the sand and faced their opponents warily... they could barely fight one dozen Forest Stalkers, but two dozen?... this was not a fight they could reasonably hope to win.

"Too bad that hope has nothing to do with reason!" Sikia said, attempting to smile, as the twenty four dogs closed in...

"No. It doesn't."

That voice came from behind the Stalkers... but as the dogs, and the lionesses, turned to look, they realized, instantly, that no one was there.

Now, the Stalkers and their leader were worried... the lionesses, not so much.

"They're back..." noted Adhabu, but the dark lioness's darker voice held a note of fledgling elation.

* * *

"_Grandmother, you have no sense,"_Freak thought to himself, as he splashed swamp water into the Desert's sand a few more times, _"this is a crazy idea."_

The li-tigon's paws were somewhat large and padded, not built for precise sculpting. He could use his claws, yes, but that was slow and inefficient.

And yet, this little trick of Samehe's would allow her to get right below the Stalkers's leader, who was absolutely vital to their carefully planned and executed assaults. And while his grandmother took down that dog, Freak could come in from a flank and catch the Stalkers themselves off-guard...

And it all rested on his ability to carve his grandmother's likeness into the solidifying sand that rested in front of him. His eyes, both the scarred and the unmarred one squinted in effort as he struggled to remember the exact nature of the fringe on Samehe's whisker...

* * *

"I'm here, puppies," said a voice to the Southeast, one that sounded so much like Samehe's that the slight oddities in it could be chalked up to fluctuations in the sound waves brought on by the great distance that it had to travel over; a distance filled with sand and wind.

The Stalkers all turned at once, to face their most dangerous adversary. Their leader did some quick math—there were four Desert Warriors, and they'd held their own against twelve Forest Stalkers. That meant that each Warrior was worth three Forest Stalkers, and Samehe was twice as good as her surrogate... which meant that the Dark Forest had an advantage of six Forest Stalkers; ignoring, of course, negligible morale effects of Samehe's appearance on her Warriors.

"Ah, and so the Desert Slayer decides to show up," the pack leader said, bowing his head slightly, before glaring hatefully at what he thought was Samehe, "where have you been? Off in our homeland to capture and torture my son again?" he demanded with a growl.

But the old lioness was silent, and her darkened silhouette didn't budge an inch. Not even her tail twitched in the wind.

"Answer me, you disrespectful cat," the dog said, and, in his anger, began to stride away from the Stalkers, towards where he thought Samehe was, "what were you d—"

All at once, the Forest Stalkers leaped. Not at the Desert Warriors, of course, but towards their leader. Fear was in their eyes, words of warning were on their lips, but even though the older dog was only fifteen yards away, he didn't even have a chance.

Samehe had positioned herself perfectly. She was not quite exactly under the dog's projected path, but a little to the side. And so, when she sprung into the air, she only had to extend her claws and reach out, a little bit, to made deep, reaching cuts appear in the Stalkers' leader's neck...

The dog managed to stay on his feet, even as Samehe hit the peak of her jump at nearly twenty five feet in the air. The lioness curled up and twisted around,and landed with her mighty paws on her enemy's skull.

The Forest Stalkers stopped dead in their tracks, even as they simultaneously glared at Samehe and made pleading looks at their leader, who still clung to life.

The dog's blood pooled all around him, making him breathe it in, even as he breathed his last. He managed to look up to give his sworn enemy one last, hateful glare; seeing that she was glaring at the Forest Stalkers... because he was no longer a threat.

"Fuck... you..." the canine managed to rasp, and as he glanced meaningfully at the Forest Stalkers, the light vanished forever from his eyes...

The Stalkers looked, for a moment, like they were they were going to surrender. Their normally blank, determined expressions faltered, and they seemed to cringe from the sight of the old, but deadly lioness dominating their leader's body.

But then, it was like the last traces of doubt were wiped from their faces and minds. Their decision had been made; there was no turning back now—though they couldn't fight nearly as well without their leader telling them where and how to attack, they wouldn't—couldn't—give up.

They all dashed towards Samehe, even as the Desert Warriors moved, fast, to defend her. But before anything else could happen, the densely packed group of dogs was blasted apart.

They were scattered in all directions for about ten yards. Some to the sides, some down into the Desert's sand, some upwards; and it was all because they were so determined to kill Samehe that they'd failed to pay attention to their surroundings.

Freak's paws hit the ground, even as the Forest Stalkers got back to their feet. They'd all taken hits; none were very serious; which was lucky—they were so surprised that they didn't even have time to block or counter this strange cat's vicious assault.

The li-tigon was panting, as his dusty tan fur seemed to shimmer in the waning light of the day, making his stripes visible for just a second. That single move, or rather, combination of moves, had left him winded, for the moment.

But now the Forest Stalkers had lost their greatest advantage—telepathic-like cooperation. They were scattered, and confused; their form was broken. Scrambling, they tried to reassemble, dashing towards Freak in the process.

But Samehe and the Desert Warriors were on them too quickly for them to react. The lionesses began to tear apart their enemies; this time, the injuries really were coming. And after a minute, Freak joined in as well...

* * *

It was about an hour after dusk; a full hour of intense, exhausting combat. A full hour of intense, exhausting, pulse-pounding, in your-face, explosive, bloody, gory, loud, mindless, crazed, no-holds-barred, no quarter given, sub-human, depraved, furious, enraged, savage, maniacal, vicious, wild, intense, extreme, fierce, rabid, frenetic, barbaric violence that al-Mujahid declined to describe in more detail—yeah, it was that bad.

Regardless, when the last blow was struck, the last injury dealt, all the Forest Stalkers lay dead. But Samehe and the Desert Warriors knew that their enemies had a terrible tendency to fake death... and then strike when the lionesses weren't ready for it.

And so, much to Freak's horror, rather than honoring or even respecting the bodies of their fallen foes, his newfound family, his flesh-and-blood, began to tear apart the dogs' throats and guts with their cruel, sharp claws...

"What are you doing?!" the male li-tigon suddenly roared, his tiger side coming out in a hiss of outrage, and pain, causing his grandmother and her followers to freeze, backs arching, fur standing on end, as Freak looked at them all in shock, disappointment... and... was it possible?... shame?

"You do _not_ treat a fallen creature like that," he snarled, striding over to physically shoved Shindani away from a dog whose innards she still held in her claws, "eat them if you must, or use their bodies in whatever way the Spirits have created you to do... but do _not_ desecrate them."

He took a long moment to glare at the other cats, and then, with incredible gentleness, reached out with a sightly trembling paw to shut the eyes of the dead Stalker for the last time.

"_I've lived a hard life... so have the Desert's lionesses. But so have the Dogs of the Dark Forest... we may need to fight them. We may need to kill them. But this... this is wrong."_

"How can you treat a brother in the Circle of Life like this?" the li-tigon asked softly, but emotionlessly, as he looked up at the lionesses, a fierce, demanding curiosity in his eyes, especially the scarred one.

Samehe's eyes narrowed for the umpteenth time as she looked at her grandson. He'd had such a hard life, and yet, he was still so naïve in some ways...

And yet... hadn't Samehe realized how wrong the cruelty she'd treated her cubs with? Hadn't she been taught by the Great Spirits the terrible sin it is to hate a being that you can't understand, that you can't help back onto the right path in life?

The lioness licked her lips, delaying, searching for words, even as the Desert Warriors looked from her, to her grandson, and back again, Sikia with visible discomfort.

"_There are a thousand paths to enlightenment, and they can all be found anywhere. Brothers and sisters that strive towards enlightenment are just as common..."_ she thought, the words appearing in her mind as if they'd always been there, _"is my grandson to enlighten me... again?"_

The li-tigon's eyes bore into his grandmother's even harder for a long moment... and, for that moment, it looked like she might be on the verge of a breakthrough... but her eyes flashed, and before Freak could even _move_, she was just in front of his face, looking down... such speed, such power, could only be invoked by great love for another...

"War is Hell," Samehe murmured, and the Desert Warriors took in a brief, sharp breath of air as she stepped away slightly... her paw still holding down the paw of the Forest Stalker, whose last action had been an attempt to rip Freak's throat apart.

* * *

The li-tigon had, predictably, "politely" turned down Samehe's request for him to sleep with her and her Warriors. Of course, the Desert Slayer hadn't given up so easily, and so her grandson was forced to ignore her increasingly desperate shouts as he strode, somewhat forcefully, away from the scene.

The lionesses looked after him sadly. Samehe gave a shrug, but the Desert Warriors had known her long enough to tell that she was faking her calmness.

"_If I can go there, and comfort him... what might happen...?"_ that thought was in the minds of two lionesses—Adhabu, and Msaka.

But the darkened lioness and the hunter didn't know how to express the desire to comfort the male that they looked at, as, well, a male. S/ikia, on the other hand...

"Samehe, can I go and try to cheer him up?" the youngest lioness asked hopefully, positively hopping over to her surrogate mother, who sighed and faced the ground.

"_I just can't say no to them. ...It's not a weakness,"_ Samehe told herself, then made a slight grunt of acknowledgment.

Immediately, she felt a smaller, furred head rub her from her muzzle to her neck, and rolled her eyes, concealing a somewhat resigned rueful smile, brushing off a whole flurry of thanks... Samehe didn't look up, and therefore, missed the badly-hidden looks of disappointment, and maybe resentment, from Adhabu and Msaka.

"I'll be back soon enough, guys!" the tan lioness said brightly, before loping off after Freak's tracks, "wish me luck!"

Msaka and Adhabu were both characteristically silent, and Shindani was characteristically disapproving of her sister's charitable nature.

"Luck? I don't wish you luck. I wish you _sense_!" the lioness groaned, as her sister loped out of view.

But, as always, Sikia didn't even look back as she dashed off As always Shindani sighed, then turned her nose into the air, as she faced away from her sister to follow Samehe.

"Come along, ladies," the Desert Slayer said regally.

But, as had never, ever happened before, Adhabu and Msaka _hesitated before following the bidding of their leader._

Love is a very interesting thing. It's a force so powerful that it can cause a normally rational creature to do things only describable as irrational. And for that reason, love is an incredibly dangerous, incredibly powerful weapon...

And the darkness of the world had just seen fit to use love as their weapon of choice against the last survivors of the Desert Pride.

* * *

Freak was pacing up and down the Desert sands, practically fuming in outrage. But life had taught him well, and he didn't speak the cause of his distress to any creature that might be listening.

"_How dare they! They may be at war with the dogs. But that doesn't justify such crimes..."_

Suddenly, Freak's eyes widened and he turned viciously, preparing to fight, to kill, to die—

"Hiya, Freaky-boy!" Sikia said, smiling widely, padding over to the li-tigon happily, raising a paw to wave at the li-tigon.

The young lioness's eyes went wide, seeing Freak cower, flinching, fearing her paw terribly, just a second before she was launched through the air, landing on her back, a heavy, powerful weight holding her down.

"What are you doing here? Tell me!" he snarled, pushing the lioness in anger, making her slim, not-quite bony form sink into the sand, "now!"

"Wait, Fre—" Sikia's optimistic expression utterly broke into a look of pure terror, as she gasped—the lion tigon's clenched, huge muscles, his unnaturally large teeth, his twisted, angry snarl, and his scarred eye... she was a warrior by trade, and even she couldn't help but freeze up at the sight of the angry cat.

"Freak..." she positively whimpered, incapable of even defending herself, an action that, by now, should have been beyond instinctual, "please..."

Something changed in the li-tigon's eyes, but his expression didn't. But still, somehow, even to Sikia, who was at the mercy of his powerful, crushing paws, and his terrible, cutting claws, he _felt_ different.

"Why are you here. Tell me. Now," he stated, more than he questioned or demanded, "...tell me."

Sikia was still visibly terrified. But the hard-earned instincts she'd gained through a lifetime of war started to return, somewhat. So the lioness didn't beg or plead or cry or freeze up, she did what she had to to live.

"I just... I just wanted to help you," Sikia said, for once, hating the cublike, mewling sound her voice still made, "I wanted... to say that we're sorry," she finished slightly more confidently, as her breathing rate normalized again.

The li-tigon gave Sikia an intense, suspicious gaze that seemed to burn right through her, and for a moment, the lioness felt like a grasshopper pinned under the slide of a microscope—she was at the mercy of Freak's piercing glare.

"Fine. Apology accepted," he said curtly, then let Sikia up, as he turned, sitting to face away from her, "now leave."

The young lioness's first instinct was to do just that; she held no delusion that, even though Freak's back was turned, she could possibly kill him. But she swallowed, and forced herself to stand her ground, and took a few deep breaths before she walked over right to Freak's side, slumping over to show that she wasn't a threat.

"Come on..." she said, in a good imitation of her natural, playful, optimistic state, "you don't really mean that..."

The li-tigon made no response, so, taking a small risk, Sikia scooted up so that she was right in front of his paws, looking up at his strange mane, so thin that it was like an afterthought, and held her gaze on him until his eyes peered into hers. And though the lioness did this... she saw no spark of recognition in the li-tigon's gaze.

"You're right. I don't," he said, somewhat angrily, and Sikia had to force herself not to flinch at the disappointment and shame in his voice.

"How... why... would you attack a fallen enemy? It's unthinkable. It's one thing to kill for meat, or for your life. But to deliberately try to kill a brother or sister in the Circle of Life when they mean you no harm... I can't tolerate that. I _won't_ tolerate that," he said somewhat savagely, and again, Sikia felt threatened.

"So... what are you going to do?" the lioness said quietly, after a moment, when she dared to think it was safe enough, "you're not going to leave, are you?"

"...No. I can't. Samehe's my family, and family cares for each another, even if we can't always... ...understand... why we do things..." the li-tigon said, but turned his head to not look at Sikia, somewhat forcefully, "...that doesn't mean that I forgive this... what you did out there... it disgusts me."

Sikia got to her feet, looking somewhat stricken; a little afraid, and a lot insecure. She tried to circle to look Freak in the face, but he didn't allow her to meet his eyes.

"Get away. I'm not a cute, cuddly little _kitten_," Freak said, forcing a mewl into his voice, reminiscent of the first time he'd attempted to roar, "and the last thing I need is someone—_anyone_—else."

Sikia was, at first, flabbergasted. What had the Desert lionesses done to upset the li-tigon so much? She had a feeling that if she didn't give Freak his room soon, she might get... slapped around a little.

So the tan lioness sat still for a moment, save for her rapidly lashing tail, and spoke softly after some time.

"Now I know you don't mean that..." she said gently, "I mean... Samehe, right?" Sikia said somewhat desperately, for Freak didn't react to her in the slightest, "I know you love her, I saw you two playing together..."

The li-tigon seemed to bristle to Sikia. But still, she didn't dare approach, and couldn't even begin to guess what Freak was thinking, he wasn't even facing her...

But the male cat was having a series of revelations.

"_Mother... she loved me. Maybe she still does... but I don't know. I don't know. She hasn't tried to contact me again, and I can't blame her for that,"_ the li-tigon thought with a pang,_ "I've... not been a good... son. Or cousin. Or pride member. Or brother, or friend, or any other sort of relation. All I do is use others for what they can give me, and move on when things get bad, no matter how much they need me. All I can do is think that I'm bad for them to be around, and use that as an excuse to give up, to run away..."_

* * *

Freak was four weeks old, stalking a lizard in his Jungle home.

It was a quick little animal, and an agile one too. It was hardly the size of the li-tigon's paw, and that made pouncing on it hard. But suddenly, things became all the more challenging, as rain began to pour down on the li-tigon from the Heavens.

He looked up in wonder, thinking to himself for a moment—how was such a thing possible? And why? And who did it?

These were questions that, in his later life, Freak would still ask; questions that would always keep him on his toes, suspicious, and humbled to the power of the will of the Spirits.

The water trickled over the li-tigon's body, until he shook his head vigorously, and went on, chasing the lizard without restraint.

But two hours later, Freak was still unsuccessful. And things had just gone from difficult to dangerous.

It had been raining a lot for the past few days, and even the Jungle didn't seem capable of holding so much water. And so it had built up at first, for a while; in the streams, lakes, rivers, and ponds of the li-tigon's home.

But now, even that wasn't enough. And the Jungle was starting to flood, rapidly.

Freak had ignored it at first, just seeing the water, which reached up to his ankles, as a small inconvenience. But now he could barely keep his head above water without difficulty... he felt strange, in the water—he knew he had the capacity to swim, and well, but he also felt an aversion to it. Just another example of one of the many personal struggles that were only a freak's pain to bear.

The li-tigon managed to hop onto the top of the many large boulders that were native to this part of the southwestern Jungle. He shook himself dry somewhat pointlessly, for seconds later, he was soaked again.

The lizard had managed to get onto a rock as well, and was staring at Freak from several yards away. The li-tigon looked at his opponent, and paused.

"_I should go home. Staying out here in the cold and wet is dangerous. Large swimming creatures from water bodies may attack me, and if I am injured, none will protect me. Everyone is a threat,"_ he noted, but didn't look away from the lizard.

Freak's ears flattened, and he lowered himself down.

"_I will never become strong if I give up as soon as things get hard."_

The li-tigon leaped through the air. The lizard hadn't expected him to do so, and thanks to the rain, the little creature didn't hear Freak coming... but it did hear when the li-tigon's paws hit the boulder.

The lizard raced around, searching desperately for an escape. But there was none; it was trapped with the li-tigon, who was struggling to get onto the boulder safely.

Freak growled and panted, the water resisting him, trying to carry him away, to the south, eventually, right off the huge waterfall that lead to the Desert. But he concentrated, and forced himself up, up onto the boulder, and then, finally caught the lizard in his paws.

The animal struggled in the li-tigon's grasp, but felt neither claws tearing it apart, nor jaws crushing life from it. Eventually, it gave up, and looked up at Freak, in curiosity... what strange mercy was this?

"...No gain, no reason to kill," the cub said, and released the lizard, "chasing you... was fun."

"_I' will never become strong if I don't commit to the things, fully... if I don't put every effort into them, regardless of the cost, or risk. ...I will become strong. And therefore, I will not give up."_

* * *

"...I'm not going to give up on you five," Freak said after a moment, and, after turning to face Sikia, tilted his head at her.

"I understand... that even after they've fallen, the dogs of the Dark Forest might be threatening. But, perhaps, this war isn't one that can be won through force. Maybe you have to be a little... unorthodox."

Sikia tilted her head. Using something other than force to fight? Just what was this li-tigon talking about?

Freak seemed to think for a minute, then shrugged.

"But you must admit, this war has no end in sight, not in victory, defeat, or surrender. Is, at lease, a ceasefire, a temporary truce possible?" the li-tigon asked, but was already fairly sure of the answer.

The young lioness shook her head brightly, and smiled, happy that Freak was talking again.

"Nope! The dogs are too hard-headed to do that."

The li-tigon's eyes narrowed, as he thought, _"Are you sure it's them, and not you, or both of you?"_

"Well. Then, why is surrender, on your part, impossible? I know that the Desert is your home," the li-tigon said, "but you have to recognize that it's not... the most hospitable place for a lion. Or... whatever I am. Walking around here, I'm in constant discomfort... the sand, the lack of water and food, the... nothingness..." he said, glancing over the barren landscape, "have you ever been to another place? The Lower Plains, or the Unexplored Regions, perhaps?"

But Sikia shook her head, then tilted her head at Freak, sitting down obediently.

"No... why? What are they like?"

The li-tigon blinked several times, and collected his thoughts. He wasn't much of a story teller, but what he could do was give the young lioness an objective, almost lifeless description of, at first, the Lower Plains, and what he'd heard of the Unexplored Regions. But, at her prodding, he continued on.

Freak spoke of the Bloody Shadows, the Jungle, the Shadow Lands, and the Outlands... and then, at last, of the Pride Lands.

"It's a beautiful place," Freak said emotionlessly, hardly registering Sikia's wide eyes, "huge, flowing plains, oasises everywhere... trees in clumps, with many, many animals all over. And then, there's this... feeling... about the Pride Lands. It's strongest at Pride Rock. It's a feeling that you're... safe. Protected. Wanted. ...Loved," the li-tigon's voice trailed off, becoming incredibly soft, and gentle.

"So..." said the lioness after a second, tilting her head at Freak, brow furrowing, "...why'd ya go? If it was such a nice place..."

Freak stiffened up, and, for a moment, Sikia worried that he'd clam up again, or tell her to leave. But he did neither, and, after a moment, spoke, in a somewhat low, mournful tone.

"Because I was a coward. I had... ...a vision. Involving my parents. It didn't go well," the li-tigon didn't elaborate, "but after it, I... made the cowardly decision that I'm not made to be around others," he said calmly, the Desert breeze ruffling his mane, "and, instead of seeing things with the Pride Landers through to the end, no matter what end it might be... I ran. Here."

Sikia nodded, mouthing, "Oh..." and hesitated for a few seconds.

"Well... I'm glad you came here, Freaky-boy. It's nice to talk to someone besides Samehe and the other Desert Warriors," she smiled, "don't get me wrong, I love 'em to death, but hearing about how well the war's going, how great the last hunt was, how lame everything is, and how much the dogs suck... it gets old..." Sikia sighed.

The li-tigon looked up, and, after a moment, forced his lips to twitch, and finally form themselves into his snarl of a smile.

"Well... I came here to meet my grandmother. But, I don't regret coming here, not at all. Aside from Granny Samehe, there are... interesting lionesses in the Desert."

The li-tigon's "smile" was threatening, intimidating. But, to Sikia, it wasn't. He'd just complimented her, incredibly so. She was interesting to a being who must have seen some _very_ interesting things in his lifetime.

Interesting, though... in what way?

Males were males, after all, and though Sikia was too young to be considered for mating, seriously... well, to be fair, there weren't that many males to go around, not in her generation...

"_Wait. No,"_ the lioness thought, _"no. Freak's not like that... he doesn't look at us like that. He doesn't treat us like potential mates. He treats us... heh... sort of like Samehe does. He sees us, I'm guessing, as... allies. Powerful, deadly allies. Not potential mates. But maybe... potential friends."_

The li-tigon's "smile" was threatening, intimidating. But, to Sikia, it was...

Genuine.

"Aww..." the tan lioness said quietly, "you think I'm interesting?" she smiled, expecting Freak to vehemently deny it, "you wanna be friends, don't you..." the Warrior's voice became less playful, and more questioning, more serious.

The lioness expected a curt, perhaps painfully sharp denial. But Freak only tilted his head, and answered without hesitation.

"Yes. I'd like that. A lot," the li-tigon said seriously, looking at Sikia somewhat warily, suspicious if she really was being serious...

But the female cat just gawked, blinking for a moment, before the way to convince Freak of her intentions became clear.

He tensed up slightly as she approached, claws, poking holes into he surface of the Desert's sands slightly. His lips peeled back slightly, baring the tips of his vicious fangs, and his mane started to stand on end.

It was a reaction so subconscious that the li-tigon didn't notice it happening—it was an instinct hammered into him by a life of combat, violence, fear, and a complete lack of companionship.

But Sikia's intentional ignorance of his ingrained discomfort was an instinct hammered into her each day; every day that her comrades-in-arms needed comfort, but had no one else to turn to.

The lioness quite calmly padded over to Freak, got right up in front of him, and nuzzled him under the chin, rubbing the top of her head and snout against his neck and the soft, fuzzy mane that was almost thrown on as an afterthought.

At first, Freak didn't know how to react. So he just stood there, accepting the lioness's affection; though, there was a friends-only quality to it that was exclusively tangible.

Even when the li-tigon began to cautiously return Sikia's motions, somewhat, there was a fine line, one that neither tried, nor wanted, to cross.

But it was a line that was invisible to anyone else...

Suddenly, the li-tigon froze, perking up, and Sikia immediately looked around, knowing, somehow, that she wasn't the cause of his discomfort.

"What's happening? What is it?" the lioness asked, looking around the rolling dunes of the Desert suspiciously, "a dog?"

Freak paused for a moment, and stepped a little bit forward, putting his larger, more imposing form in between... whatever he'd seen and Sikia. The li-tigon's nose twitched, and his brow furrowed as he cocked his head.

"_A lioness... but why would she run away like that? She didn't do anything wrong..."_ Freak thought, but didn't take his eyes away from that spot on the Desert, where he'd seen the unmistakable silhouette of a big cat.

"...Nothing. I just thought I saw..." but who was it who would act so strangely?

Freak didn't understand. He didn't understand what was going on at all. He didn't understand that the lioness who'd seen him and Sikia nuzzle thought that they were mates...

Love is an interesting thing. It can be an incredibly good thing, when the one you live is the one you're with. But if the one you love isn't with, is with someone else...

Love can be a great motivator for violence. Because to love is to be jealous of all others that love the one you've marked as your own.

Sikia merely cocked her head, and slumped over at the li-tigon's feet. And a minute later, Freak lowered himself as well, looking down at the young lioness somewhat curiously. Sikia looked up, and grinned, giving the li-tigon a friendly, playful cuff across the muzzle.

"Love ya."

* * *

(That's it for now. I suppose you'll have to wait another few months before I release the next chapter.)


	14. All's Fair III: War

The Lion King: The Freak  
Chapter 14: All's Fair III: War

* * *

(Are any of you familiar with the TV show Avatar? I just realized that there's one character that I imagine Adhabu sounding exactly like. Her name is Mai.)

Samehe and Shindani were alone together, slumped over, almost side by side. Both were trying to sleep, and both were failing, thinking of Sikia... and Freak.

Shindani, at first, had thought that Sikia might have been walking towards her death; if not her physical death, the death of her good nature, her kindness, her playfulness. But then, she'd groaned in resignation, realizing that, at worst, Freak would send her back with, at worst, a grievous injury to whatever strange pride that Sikia held.

Samehe was on her back, looking at the stars. She saw one twinkle, and wondered if, from somewhere up there, Shere Kahn looked back down at her... if Chukizo and her other cubs did, as well. If the alpha males of the Desert Pride did, too...

"...Shindani..." the old lioness said, and instantly, the younger feline's ears perked up as she made a grunting sound of acknowledgment, looking at her leader and surrogate mother, "I'm getting old, I know it... I doubt that I'll see another year pass..."

Even Shindani, the least cublike, the least sympathetic lioness out of the Desert Warriors had to bite her lip at talk of Samehe's quickly approaching fate.

"But, I think, I've taught you four well. I've taught you to have faith, to take comfort in the fact that, no matter what, the Great Spirits will protect us, until we see, once and for all, if the Gemini Theory really is true, if the Great Spirits really are the true masters of this land..."

"But my poor grandson," Samehe let out a sigh, "I don't think he has faith in... well... anything."

"Hold on, Samehe..." Shindani said, and gave the elder lioness a look of incredulity on her face, "sorry for interrupting and sh—and all," the lioness caught herself, then paused, and continued, "but come on... we all saw you playfighting, or practicing with him, whichever you want to call it... now, I'll be honest," Shindani said curtly, "if you came at me like that, I'd be scared outta my mind. I'd run the f—uh, I'd, uh, run away, uh, fast..."

"But he didn't. He knew, Samehe," Shindani said, "he knew that you weren't gonna hurt him. He knew that as good as we know that you'll never hurt us. In fact," the lioness went on, "he knew better than us. Now, maybe it's 'cause you're his Granny Samehe... but I don't think so," Shindani said; clearly, her underused vocal chords were reaching their limits, "I think that Freak... is, at his core, a good guy... I mean, we all saw how he flipped out when we... did what we had to..." Shindani's voice had taken on an unnatural pleading tone; though the lionesses had convinced themselves, time again again, that it was necessary to strike a downed enemy, it never seemed to stick; "he might be... unpolished, maybe even uncivilized. But he has faith, at least, in you, Samehe... and don't forget that."

The old lioness was still laying on her back, and was pointedly silent. Shindani fell silent as well, ears flattening to the back of her head slightly; had she crossed the line?

"Well," Samehe said after a long moment, then turned over to rest on her side, looking at the Desert Warrior with both pride, and tears, in her eyes, "...well. Thank you, Shindani. I suppose I have taught you well..."

Shindani was, of course, shocked to see her leader so touched by her words. She didn't know quite what to say, and so, decided to change the topic.

"Weird, isn't it..." the lioness said, causing Samehe to tilt her head just a little, "that Msaka and Adhabu would head off to relieve themselves at the same time... heh, if I didn't know better, I'd say that at least one of them is up to something..."

* * *

The lioness's thoughts were as dark as the post-dusk sky as she strode, purposefully, angrily, towards the place where the remaining lions of the Desert Pride slept.

"_So. She seduced him. ...It's not his fault. He's spent his entire life without the company of the opposite gender, it's natural that he'd think that his lust, or infatuation, or whatever, was love. But Sikia..."_ the lioness growled, _"she needs to understand that Freak is _mine_. And I'm gonna make everyone see that, and if Sikia gets in my way... well, I'll teach her that I'll do anything for love."_

"Anything_."_

The lioness walked on more quickly, a terrible resolve filling her heart, a terrible snarl flowing across her face. She was filled with love, she thought, and because her loved one both did not requite her feelings, and, to her knowledge... misdirected his own affection... she was also filled with hate.

Love, after all, is a very, very interesting thing.

* * *

(one instance of the f-bomb coming up, sorry)

The Desert was still. In the darkness, the sands were purplish, and cool to the touch. Overhead, stars glinted and glimmered, casting little light on the terrain below.

Two sets of padded paws approached each another; they'd join at a roughly perpendicular angle. One set was coming from the northwest. The other approached from the southwest. Both pairs might have been approaching, after a roundabout maneuver, from the west... where Freak and Sikia were.

Adhabu and Msaka were both so absorbed in their thoughts that they both jumped, when, at last, they noticed the presence of the other, not ten feet away.

The dark-furred lioness and the hunter's ears perked up, and their claws half-extended, but then they both paused, and offered somewhat strained, forced smiles to each another. A tense few seconds passed, then the lionesses continued eastward, towards Samehe and Shindani.

Eight paws quietly padded across the Desert. But aside from that, everything was completely silent.

"...So..." Adhabu rasped, in a whisper that shattered the silence, "...what do you think about, you know, Sikia... and Freak?"

Msaka was silent for a moment. But then, she always was. Adhabu reminded herself of this, and forced herself to not read too deeply into the huntress's actions, forced herself to not take note of its disturbingly contemplative nature.

"She's... well, going to get her ass handed to her," Msaka said, then, as was normal, fell silent.

"...And...?" Adhabu prompted.

It usually took some prodding to get the huntress to talk. But what was unusual was the vague hint of urgency in the dark lioness's voice; as well as the slightly warning tone Msaka's voice took on.

"_And_, she's probably going to deserve it. _No one_ can tell that boy off and get away with it."

There was a definite hint of anger in the huntress's voice. And it was with a tone of challenge that Adhabu replied.

"Yeah. You know it," the dark lioness said, "'Everyone is a threat,' right? ...But I wonder..."Adhabu said, eyes flashing, if not quite perceptibly, "what do you think Sikia's trying to do? Yeah, I know that she's a fuckin' Girl Scout and all. But come one," the dark lioness said, trying to keep her muzzle from twisting into a snarl too much, "even she knows her limits, right? So, it makes you wonder... is she going there to... _get_... with Freak?"

Adhabu was prodding Msaka. That was, to say the very least, unusual. The two lionesses had always been on very good terms; their friendship had been one of companionable silence. But for the dark lioness to deliberately provoke the huntress crossed an unspoken line.

And so, when Msaka finally did speak, it was in a carefully measured tone that, despite her best efforts, was laden with molten hot anger.

"He..." she murmured, "will... _never_... allow that to happen. _Never_," the lioness repeated, "and if Sikia tries..." the huntress broke off... and yet, Adhabu swore she heard the words that Msaka thought, so quietly that they could have been cooed into her ears by the Desert's breeze, "she'll get what she deserves."

The rest of the walk back to Shindani and Samehe was spent in silence.

Just as usual.

* * *

Freak gave Sikia a long, testing glare. But the lioness didn't seem put off, and rather innocently licked at her paw in the obsessive manner that felines do, before catching on.

"What's up, Freaky-boy?" she asked brightly.

The li-tigon paused for a long moment.

"You... love me? ...How? You've only known me for a day now. How can you feel such a strong sense of affection... towards me, of all beings?"

The lioness smiled, then nodded, in an unwontedly mature manner before explaining.

"No, you don't get it. First off, love... well, it doesn't really matter how long," Sikia said, "you know the other one for. Especially for me! Samehe told me that the day I was born, she was away doing, guess what, some reconnaissance work. But the second I smelled her, she said I got up, walked right over, and rubbed half my fur off on her leg," Sikia said, smiling... an expression that Freak returned painfully, thinking about the sister who, like so many others, he'd abandoned.

"Also, there is this thing... it's called infatuation. It happens when a female meets a male for the first time, and since one of them's never really loved anyone before... in the way that mates do, I mean, they think that this feeling of obsession is love."

Freak paused, tilting his head just a little, but decided to let Sikia continue, to let his question wait for a moment.

"Finally..." the lioness said, as she slumped over just next to the li-tigon, ignoring his deadly paws and claws, "love isn't something that's just for family and mates. Friends love each another too. Like all of us and Samehe do. Seeeeeeeeeee?" Sikia said, looking up at Freak with her omnipresent smile.

A gust of wind ruffled the li-tigon's mane, so, for a heartbeat, his stripes were visible. He opened his mouth a few fingers to speak, then paused, thinking, and looked up, speaking, in his dull, unafflicted, bland tone.

"I did love someone. Once. ...Not in the family way. Or the friendly way," the li-tigon said, ignoring the soft gasp Sikia gave as she realized that Freak had loved in the only way he hadn't mentioned...

"It was only a few days ago... but she... died. Right in front of me. I know I've never been with any female before... but it wasn't infatuation. I spent over two months with her... and, until the end, I was blind to her, and to the fact that she loved me more than I will ever know," Freak said in a tone that was both resigned and hopeless.

"...But she's gone now," Freak said flatly, "I was blessed to have had her love. Me, a freak, to be loved... but I was. And I ignored it," the li-tigon said; somehow, his voice had taken on a tone of incredible guilt, "I suppose that if I live out the rest of my life alone, without even family and friends... I will have earned my fate, a thousand times over."

Sikia looked up at the li-tigon sadly, who was still peering at the horizon and upwards, at the stars, as if trying to see something that could never, ever be reached, only observed from a distance.

"Freak..." the lioness said quietly, and waited for a moment, until the li-tigon looked away from the stars, towards her, "you don't get it, do you? The ones we love never _really_ leave us. Yeah, sometimes they die... but it's not like the love you share with them disappears. ...Take me for instance," Sikia said, and, for the first time, Freak saw that the lioness's infectious optimism was a personality brought on by necessity, "Shindani was out with Samehe when the dogs attacked. They killed my mommy right in front of me, before everyone else got them away."

Freak felt a pang... his mother died before his eyes too. But, upon reflection, he knew that her death was at least a relatively peaceful, quiet one, a death during which she'd been doing her job as a mother. Whereas Sikia's mother hadn't even been able to look at both of her daughters in her final seconds...

"Anyway. That same night, after me and Shindani cried ourselves to sleep, I had a dream, or something like a dream, anyway. And when I talked to Shindani about it later, she told me she had the _same exact dream_."

The li-tigon perked up just a little, tilting his head... his curiosity was piqued. He'd met his father, and sister, and mother again, in a trancelike state he could only describe as a dream.

"I saw Mommy again," Sikia said happily, "she hugged me and Shindani, and promised that she'd always watch over us both, that she'd always protect us. She said she'd help us conquer the greatest mountains, and that every time we looked at our reflections in the water, or at each another, we'd see her. Because me and her and Shindani, we're all the same. We are, really, one and the same."

That made Freak think. Back to his first steps out of his cave in the Jungle, into the world. Back to when he'd looked into the puddle of water, which, he recalled, didn't seem to have a bottom.

"_I remember that. After I looked in, when I walked away, I thought to myself... I am of my mother. And when I looked into the puddle, I realized that not only do I look like her, I... I can't explain it. It's like she is inside of me. Like she's part of who I am."_

The li-tigon then looked down at Sikia, and nodded.

"Yes. I understand. I see. So... my mother, father, and sister, have never left me. They live in me... do I have it right?"

The lioness nodded. And then, she was both pleased and amazed to see the incredibly rare event... Freak smiled, if slightly. Don't misunderstand: this wasn't his forced grimace. It was small and only visible for a second, but it was a natural smile that said that no matter what this cat had experienced in his life, he still had hope...

"Aww..." Sikia said quietly, and twisted to her feet, tapping the li-tigon's muzzle with a paw before sitting down and smiling up at him, "you look cute when you smile. You should do it more often."

Freak seemed to think for a second, then nodded.

"Maybe... I will find love again, someday. ...Maybe I'll find other reasons to smile. And I can't think of a better place to try than here, in the Desert, with my grandmother, the Desert Warriors... and you, Sikia."

"You make me smile."

* * *

"Down. Get down," Freak muttered.

The li-tigon heard a slight ruffle behind him, and then followed his own advice.

He lowered himself, concealing his deep tan, striped form among a group of bushes.

Something was different in the Wet Forest, different from yesterday, when he and Samehe had traveled in it. It was strange—with the Slayer of a Thousand back on the front lines, the dogs needed ever man jack to fight back.

And yet, in their two hours in the desert, Freak and Msaka had passed no less than _three_ patrols of two dogs apiece.

"_Did they find a trace of us yesterday? Are they preparing for something?"_ the li-tigon wondered to himself idly, as his eyes narrowed.

Up ahead, though, the reason that he'd told the huntress to get down became clear; literally, visible through the dense, hazy fog that was an epidemic in the swamp.

Freak had been toying with the idea of applying his "become one with nature" mindset to actual motion. He hadn't tried it before, yet, not quite... but even if he became slightly visible now, there was sufficient distance and damper in both sound and sight and smell to allow him to go unnoticed...

The li-tigon took in a deep breath, and held it, then let it out. Slowly, he relaxed, allowing every muscle in his body to go limp. As always, he kept control of himself, but it was an out of body experience, as always.

But this time, Freak applied a tap there, a push here... and slowly, he began to move, completely unnoticed, to Msaka's side.

"_Don't—_move..." the li-tigon breathed, but, of course, as expected, the huntress couldn't stop herself from jumping, if by just a few millimeters.

"Sorry..." Msaka said just as quietly as Freak had, "you'll have to show me how to do that later..."

The li-tigon merely nodded, then held perfectly still. He was scared, and, he assumed that the huntress, being a sensible being, was similarly frightened.

But who could blame him, really, when he was looking into the eyes of a twenty foot long reptile that was coming directly towards him?

The huge lizard was flanked by two dogs on either side, but they seemed to be merely escorting him, not restraining or controlling him.

The two cats didn't dare budge, not until the lizard and dogs were over at least fifty yards away.

"I thought that the lizards of the Southern Rocklands were neutral in this little war," Freak murmured, glancing at Msaka through the corner of his eye.

"They are," the huntress replied, "at least, we've never fought them before, ever... Samehe once tried to get them to help us, but they refused, and pledged neutrality... they'd always had border skirmishes with the Wet Forest, so we never imagined that they might _join_ the dogs..."

"So... that's why there's so much security right now. The dogs are worried that their newfound allies might betray them... I think that there's something happening in the Southern Rocklands, something bad... something so bad that it would cause the lizards to join the Wet Forest..."

Msaka nodded, but silently. She wasn't quite used to moving around in the Forest yet, and scooted a little closer to Freak... to hear him better, of course...

"I know this wasn't in our plans for the day..." Freak said quietly, "but I've taught you how to move around and fight in the Forest for two days now..." he muttered, referring to the sparring match he'd had with Msaka, in total silence, the previous day, "we need to taint the arrival of the lizards... with blood. Listen..." the li-tigon murmured, and held silent for a moment—concentrating carefully, Msaka was able to hear the soft, hissing sounds of more lizards, not in the immediate vicinity, but secure enough in the Wet Forest to communicate loudly, "there are more of them. This is not an isolated event. The lizards are here, with the approval of the dogs. If Grandmother was here, she'd approve," Freak said, hoping that the huntress wouldn't stop him from doing what was necessary, "I know she would."

Msaka's expression was much like the one that the li-tigon wore so much—calm, analytical, detached—but hers was forced. Freak's was _molded_ from a lifetime that required him to be as harsh as his infinite enemies.

The lioness opened her mouth, and seemed to choose her words _very_ carefully before speaking.

"Alright..." she said quietly, "we'll take one. ...But then, we'll have to leave... security will be tightened, and if we don't do it and get out fast, we might find it hard to get back to the Desert... for days. So, we'll need to kill him quickly. And quietly. ...And Freak..." the huntress said, "you might already know this..." Msaka paused, seeing that she had the li-tigon's attention, something inside of her fluttering slightly, "but lizards see in _heat_."

Freak froze, then spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully.

"That could just make things a little... tricky..."

* * *

"That'sssss far enough..." the lizard hissed, "I tire, and my blood growsssss cold..."

The four dogs glanced at each another, and nodded. They'd been told, by their Lord, that they were to treat their guests and potential allies with respect... but to be ordered around in their own home...

Regardless, this alliance would tip the scale in their favor. And to win the war, the dogs of the Wet Forest were willing to swallow their pride.

The lizard watched, rapping his claws against the ground impatiently as the dogs moved off, taking hold of carefully set vines in their teeth.

"_I wonder... there were thossssse two ssssslight differencccccesssss in the Foressssst... perhapsssss those platnsssss were merely a shade warmer than mossssst. No living creature could decreassssse their temperature that much and live..."_

The dogs backed up, pulling aside some branches that permanently shaded their Forest, keeping it dark. Sunlight spilled through, striking ground directly for the first time in decades. The lizard let out a hissing, sighing sound, and basked in the sudden warmth. His eyes clouded over, and he spoke.

"I have no further need of you for now... leave..."

The dogs really hesitated this time. Their leader had told them to treat the lizards with respect, but surely, he'd told them to accompany their 'guests' for a reason?

"With all due respect," one canine said gruffly, stepping forward, bowing his head just a few degrees, without breaking eye contact with the reptilian, "we cannot—"

That was as far as it got. The lizard spat, and the stream of liquid landed across the dog's face. The canine managed to stand for a moment, then fell over, stiff-limbed.

"He'sssss paralyzzzzzed... for the moment... leave... or hisssss affliction will be more... permanent..."

The three other dogs froze. They could do as the lizard "requested," or raise the alarm, and call enough reinforcements to the area to kill the animal through sheer force of numbers... but that would make the possibility of a temporary, strategic alliance with the Southern Rocklanders an _im_possibility, and they'd lose all of the Desert that they'd worked and died so much for...

And so, the canines swallowed their pride, with a strange sentiment in between anger, a promise for revenge, and grudging respect in their eyes. One hefted his comrade onto his back, and then the three left. They knew that the lizard was watching them with his heat-vision that made them stand out like bright lights against the chilly swamp, so they didn't even try to trick him...

All at once, the great reptile raised his head, and looked at the ground just in front of him. For a second, the lizard had thought that he'd seen a flicker of motion, of heat; of, perhaps, an assailant?

But no, nothing could move that fast and that silently—the reptile could, apart from heat, detect even the most minute of vibrations; he could tell the precise velocity of a mouse running fifty yards away.

However, he had his flaws: though the ability to detect vibration was immensely useful in the solid, sound-carrying Rocklands, here in the Dark Forest, foliage, water, and all other varieties of biomass dampened vibration.

Apart from that, the lizard had no sense of smell: evolution had not deemed such a sense necessary. Oh, it could 'taste' whatever its tongue touched, of course, but the battle lines were far, far away... and the reptile felt complacent enough that he hadn't sampled the Wet Forest for a few hundred yards.

And so, when the lizard saw a center patch of heat in the warmed-up swamp around him intake some of the cooler surrounded air, he felt a heartbeat of surprise, before he reacted to the threat.

The reptile reared up on its hind legs, and opened its mouth; wet with saliva, and lined with row after row of needle-like, razor-sharp teeth, and tried to roar.

But, impossibly, something, something bigger than a dog, jumped the full fifteen feet into the air, and, moving so quickly that it was a mere blur of motion, sliced off its tongue, then slashed at one eye

The lizard made only a soft, gurgling sound as its nerve-rich tongue gushed blood. It rolled, viciously, and then made a deep groan of pain as something _else_ caught its leg, refusing to budge—but it was too late, torque had already been applied—

Freak heard a meaty, wet _pop_ as the lizard's left rear limb dislocated. The li-tigon bit down in front of its calf, and, after a moment of surprise at just how tough its scales were even here, at such a non-vital part of its body, managed to chew through and rip out tendon, ligament, and all other manner of connective tissue.

The reptile's leg hung loose, and Freak ignored it as a non-threat. He dared to take a second to glance at Msaka, seeing the huntress flip and move about, dodging strikes from the lizard's foot-long, blade-like claws.

His mistake.

The huge lizard's tail arced through the air, and its armored tip struck Freak directly in the head. The li-tigon was thrown off his feet and landed in a heap, twenty feet away.

He didn't get up.

* * *

Msaka heard a slight _whoosing_ sound and jumped high into the air, clawing at the liard to distract it as she rebounded off of its head and scampered down its back before rebounding again, off its side. She'd searched for weak points, and found none.

"_Where's Freak? Is he trying to surprise this... this dragon?"_

"_Did he abandon me?"_

The lioness immediately felt ashamed of herself and snarled... then froze as she saw Freak laying still on his side.

Msaka heard that slight _whoosing_ sound again and instinctively ducked—she was just a split second too late.

The lizard's tail sliced a sliver of the lioness's ear clean off, and blood began to seep from the wound. But Msaka had been injured much, much worse than that, and sprang at the lizard, flipping around in mid-air to kick it in the neck.

The reptile began to wheeze, and that bought Msaka a few seconds of respite. She jumped over to Freak, and tapped him with her paw urgently, shaking him, hoping that his journey, his long journey with her, wouldn't be ended prematurely...

The lioness had underestimated her enemy. Because not three seconds after she'd struck his throat, Msaka was pulled into the air by a snake-like length that coiled around her leg.

She hissed and clawed at the lizard's tail as she was swung through the air, and only just in time realized what was happening. The reptile released the huntress so that she flew through the air like a bullet, heading directly for a nearby tree.

Just in time, Msaka twisted around, and rebounded off the tree. But she winced as she got back on the ground, and limped slightly as she assumed a fighting stance... at best, she'd sprained a paw. At worst, she'd shattered it.

This fight was going badly. And, at the moment, it looked like Msaka's most logical course was to cut her losses... and run.

But one glance at the li-tigon, or at least, his body, made her hold her position. She bared her teeth, snarling—it was a miracle that hordes of the Forest's dogs hadn't descended onto her... yet.

The next minute was filled with the most intense combat Msaka had ever known. She'd taken only superficial wounds from her enemy's overlarge claws, thank the Spirits; because those monsters could skewer her if she let them.

Time passed in a blur—the huntress, in the future, would only remembering dodging, blocking, deflecting, and, on occasion, striking.

It came as a complete surprise to her when she realized that she was wrapped around the lizard's face, wrapping her forepaws around his muzzle, keeping his jaws shut, her legs trying to choke him out.

But even though Msaka gripped as tightly as she possibly could, it was clear that she was getting no-where fast... those scales were just too tough for her to get past...

Even from such an angle, the reptile was able to make eye contact with the lioness. And though he couldn't speak and couldn't attack the lioness, it was incredible how much his eyes alone said that he wanted no more than to spend the rest of his days torturing her to death.

The huntress heard a familiar voice say, "Let go," and, without thinking, did so.

It was only a few heartbeats later when Msaka realized that she was falling down to the ground, that the lizard was opening his mouth to roar, and that Freak was on his feet again.

Then, several things happened at once.

The li-tigon dashed, and then leaped directly towards the reptile's mouth. The latter stopped trying to roar, and instead, held his jaws slightly apart, his needle-like teeth facing the li-tigon directly. His claws moved, aiming to tear Freak apart in mid-air.

Msaka jumped—and one foot-long dagger pierced her directly between the ribs, just under the backbone, coming out of her fur; horribly, not bright red, but a dark, purplish shade of gore.

The lizard was distracted just enough to turn his head, and relax his jaws... and that allowed Freak to jump right down his throat. The reptile seemed bewildered for a second, then guessed that the li-tigon had tried to attack it's neck... and then, its gullet worked, and the huge lump in its scales that represented Freak was gulped down.

Even in her state, Msaka felt new adrenaline course through her system.

"No!" she hissed, and slammed a fisted paw down on the reptile's claw, snapping it.

Freed, now, the lioness leapt into the air, and, in the space of a second, slice her enemy's face at least a dozen times, managing to cut an eye before an armored eyelid protected it.

The lizard was already gasping for breath, its 'meal' had gotten stuck in its throat, and at Msaka's furious assault, it gurgled, and seemed to freeze up—

And then its neck and head fell, separately from its body.

Covered in saliva, as well as a series of long, painful-looking cuts from the lizard's teeth, Freak stood on his hind legs, eyes closed, bloody claws still extended. Inside the gullet of the beast, he'd crossed his forelegs, and arced his claws in opposing directions over his head to slice through the lizard's soft flesh.

The li-tigon rubbed himself against the Wet Forest itself, and splashed around in a puddle, rubbing his face with his wet paws. Only then did he open his eyes, their dark irises examining, analyzing as they always did.

Freak trotted on over to Msaka, and, with a gentle nudge, pushed her down. Then he braced his forepaws against her side, took the lizard's claw in his mouth, and pulled it free. Aside from a soft grunt of pain, the huntress didn't react.

"Are you alright? You're injured. Can you stand? We need to leave," the li-tigon said, a tone of urgency in his normally flat voice, "if the dogs aren't already coming as we speak, they will soon. We only have minutes to escape."

"I can stand," Msaka said shakily, but, as she tried to, her legs quickly crumpled underneath her: such prolonged, intense combat, plus her still-bleeding injury had exhausted her.

Freak merely nodded, then licked at the lioness's wound, unaware of the warm tingles he sent running through her whole body. The bleeding hemmed, if slightly, and now, there really was no time to spare.

With ease, the li-tigon squirmed underneath Msaka, and hefted her up, as if hardly feeling her weight.

After that, Msaka didn't remember her journey. Not well, anyway. She only recalled certain aspects of it: the feeling of the li-tigon's fur underneath her, the feeling of his muscles rippling beneath his flesh, the feeling of her paws wrapped around his toughened, harsh form, and the feeling of a deep, desperate fire burning brightly inside of her...

Love, after all, is very, very interesting.

* * *

Freak managed to sneak through the rest of the Forest—it seemed that all the dogs were busy escorting lizards around, and didn't pay as much attention to a stray _snap_ or depression in their swamp as they may have.

Msaka seemed to have slipped into unconsciousness on his back, but Freak didn't particularly mind—it made her easier to carry, especially with the way her forelegs wrapped around his neck and mane.

Finally, however, the cats made it out of the Forest. Impossibly, however, fighting was audible the second Freak stepped out of the swamp. And as the li-tigon walked up and over the next rise, there they were, the Desert Warriors and his grandmother, fighting a hugely successful battle against the dogs.

It was cub's play for the li-tigon to carry Msaka around the battle, and gently set her down. The Desert Warriors were occupied, and so, they didn't do much more than register that he was there... for the most part.

* * *

Sunset.

The day's fighting was done, and the dogs fell back. For the first time since the start of the war, the Desert Pride was at the doorstep of the Wet Forest. There had been extremely limited Stalker support, and Samehe had made short work of them all.

And yet, even as the lionesses and Freak moved away from the Forest, they couldn't help but hearing _more_ combat, from within the Forest itself.

"Weird... think they're having a revolution?" Adhabu asked, glancing around.

"Hell no. The dogs are fanatically loyal to their Forest Lord. No revolution a few heretics might mount would be even close to this level of violence," Shindani scoffed.

"But then, what's all the fighting for? Maybe they're practicing? Or trying to freak us out?" Sikia asked curiously.

Samehe was apparently deep in thought. But then she looked up, and sniffed slightly. A smile appeared on her face.

"Grandson...?"

The li-tigon was silent for a moment as he padded across the Desert before speaking.

"Msaka and I ran into a lizard. A lizard from the Southern Rocklands. We assumed that there were more of them... I suppose we're correct," Freak said, just as a yelp echoed through the Forest, into even the Desert.

"In order to shatter any possible alliance the lizards might have with the dogs, we waited until we could find one on its own... and then, we fought it, and killed it. It was hard to do it quietly... and it was a new enemy, one that I've never faced before. I've hardly even faced anything like it, too... it saw in heat, and it was extremely fast, as well as powerful. And breaking through its scales was often impossible. I was knocked out, and Msaka held it off, for a moment... but in the end, I managed to kill it."

Samehe paused, brow furrowing.

"How?"

"By jumping into its mouth, letting it swallow me a little... then, I cut through it. It was tough from the outside... so I defeated it from within."

"Wait—just a second..." Adhabu said slowly, "...how big was this lizard? Samehe, didn't you say that the lizards in the Southern Rocklands didn't get bigger than we are? So how...?"

"It was much, much bigger than we are," Freak said flatly, "about as long as a small elephant... or about as long as three of the Desert Warriors. About the same height, too."

There was pin-drop silence for a moment. Even the cats' paws made no sound as they moved across the Desert's sands.

"Ho... ly... shit..." Shindani said after a moment, "...wow," the lioness said, then laughed, and gave the li-tigon a slightly painful but well-meaning cuff on the shoulder with a fisted paw, "you are the _man_, Freak! Dang," she said, then looked at Samehe, who was positively beaming with pride, then at Sikia, who was looking at the li-tigon with big, awed eyes, "damn..." the lioness repeated with a chuckle.

Adhabu only seemed flabbergasted. And that didn't change even as the group approached Msaka. Sikia bent down by the lioness, tapping her here and there, listening for breathing and heartbeats.

"Poor thing..." the youngest Warrior said, "she's worn out. But she'll be okay," Sikia said in her usual, more upbeat voice, "thanks to Freaky-boy here!"

"Don't make it seem like it was more than it was," the li-tigon said flatly, in his own way of showing modesty, "I was just... doing what had to be done, that's all."

"Yeah, but it's a wonder that you could," Shindani scoffed, "look, don't be modest, you're amazing."

The rest of the lionesses nodded in agreement. Freak was quiet for a moment.

"Alright... I suppose it was... noteworthy," he said delicately, and looked at the Desert lionesses with his toothy grin displayed, "thanks for your praise."

"Oh, oh oh oh!" Sikia said suddenly, then grinned widely, positively bouncing around, "I thought... of a name for Freak!"

"Come to that... me too," said Adhabu.

"Yeah... me too," said Shindani.

"I have, too..." said Samehe.

There was a pause. Then, another voice.

"I have... too..."

All eyes turned to Msaka, and the huntress slowly got to her feet.

"I have a name for you..." she said, stretching, but paused, and looked deliberately over the Warriors' heads, or maybe, just one Warrior, and looked at Samehe, "maybe we should hear your suggestion first. He is your grandson."

The old lioness nodded, and cleared her throat. It was as if all the suffering that her grandson had endured, all the battles he'd fought, all the nights that he'd slept beside nothing but the skeletons of his dead mother and sister had culminated into this one moment... when she could do her part to erase part of what had made her hybrid grandson suffer even to this day: his name.

Samehe sucked in a deep breath, then spoke.

"I say... Shujaa. Warrior."

Collectively, the eyes of every other being present widened.

"I was going to say that," Sikia said quietly.

"I was, too," Shindani said.

"Yeah... me too..." Adhabu murmured.

"Yeah..." Msaka practically whispered.

All eyes turned to the li-tigon, and he paused before speaking.

"Shujaa... a hyena I once knew said that same thing," he said, "Uvuli. Granddaughter of Kivuli of the Bloody Shadows, daughter of Usiku... of the Pride Lands."

The li-tigon hadn't said much. But audible in his words was an unmistakable tone of regret. Of guilt. Sikia was the next to speak, to ask the questions that were on all the lionesses' minds.

"So... I'm guessing that she liked you, right?" twin shudders went through Adhabu and Msaka, "Why are you so... sad?"

"Where is she?"

Indeed, the male cat had broken his eternally blank, emotionless eye contact and was looking at the Desert's sand in between his paws.

"I don't have any idea..."

* * *

"The Gemini Theory..." Kiara said, missing the sparks of interest in Sarabi, Simba, Nala, Kovu, and Usiku's eyes, "no, never heard of it... Gemini, that means twin, right?"

Tanga nodded, then began to explain.

"Back when Mohatu was the King, he made predictions. A lot of them. And the older he got, the crazier they got... he actually predicted that the Bloody Shadows would fall, and another shadow would rise in it's place, for instance, would you believe that?" the old lion said, and grinned a little before continuing.

"Anyway, like you said, Gemini means twin. But why would we be talking about twins? This Freak of yours, he has no siblings, much less twins, correct?" Tanga said.

"He had a sister. But she died," T piped up, "at birth."

Tanga grinned slightly, and glanced at Sarabi.

"Tell them... what the Gemini Mohatu was talking about is."

The old matriarch paused, collecting her thoughts, the pain in her paw already forgotten.

"Mohatu predicted that in all of our worlds—meaning, all of them, not just this Land of the Spirits—each of us has a twin. Someone just like us... in a way. They have the same goals that we do, but they just... see different ways to achieve them. And so, while they're like us in the most important way, they're different from us in so many others that we're irrecognizable."

"Mostly."

"Because Mohatu made another prediction. He said that there will be a Gemini pair... both will be warriors. One will fight for death, the other will fight for... everything else; freedom, righteousness... life..."

Uvuli was the one that spoke next.

"So, Freak will fight for life... and his twin... will fight for death? Who is his twin?"

Tanga grinned.

"Mohatu has a prediction about that, too..." he glanced at Simba, who explained.

"Kiara, your great-great grandfather prophecized that evil is... cumulative. That it adds up, starting the minute that last great battle of good versus evil ends. And the last time we had such a battle was when Mohatu united the Land of the Spirits... for the duration of his lifetime. Mufasa said that during his father's lifetime, things just fell apart of their own accord. But judging from the way Scar was treated... I don't know what to believe anymore," the Lion King admitted.

Nala spoke up next.

"Scar... that makes sense. It makes perfect sense. Suppose that things didn't just fall apart during Ahadi's rule... suppose that it was his fault that Scar went bad? ...That would mean that a lot of evil has built up since Ahadi's time... and that Mufasa didn't do enough to combat it..."

Simba swallowed once... but nodded. He had to accept the possibility that there was more to his ancestors than meets the eye.

Usiku was the next to speak.

"And when there's enough evil in the Land of the Spirits... well, it changes from being merely an abstract concept to an entity that becomes more and more physical until it's confronted."

The black hyena then turned to Tanga, and glared horribly.

"_What was it that he said? That it's Tanga's fault that his mate died..."_ though Simba, and quite intentionally stepped in between the hyena and the old lion.

"Usiku," the Lion King said powerfully, "tell us what happened."

It wasn't a request.

The black hyena's snarl slowly diminished.

"When Saliti came to power, one of the first things he did was to find out who had how many cubs, and who was mated to who. To keep the Shadows more organized, he said. And Tanga happened to be the one that told him about my Azizi, and Uvuli. And so, one day, when I came back from a mission, both were gone. Azizi had been dragged away and killed... but she'd managed to hide my daughter," Usiku said, wrapping a foreleg over his daughter's shoulders for a moment.

"So, it is Tanga's fault that Azizi's dead, but... he didn't know what he was doing. I don't hate him," the black hyena said, trying, but not finding himself quite capable of looking the lion in the eye.

The was a general sound of sighing in relief, somewhat offset by the fact that something in the Jungle... just didn't feel right.

"Hey..." said Uvuli, trying to maintain a casual tone, trying not to think of something, or someone, too much, "if Freak's our warrior... shouldn't we give him a better name?"

One by one, the rest of the animals present began to nod in agreement.

"Any suggestions, daughter?" said Usiku, reaching over to ruffle the younger hyena's head-fur.

Uvuli playfully growled and then spoke.

"Well, if he's our warrior... why don't we call him that? Warrior, I mean... Shujaa? I suggested that to him once, a long time ago... he liked it. And I think that if he hadn't earned it back then, well, he sure has now..."

"Shujaa..." said the Lion King, as he glanced at Sarabi, then at Nala, Kovu, Kiara, then at the rest of the lionesses and hyenas, "that fits... yes. From now on, we'll call my cousin Shujaa."

All at once, the Pride Landers and Tanga got up—it was time to leave. There was no spoken decision making, they all just knew that they couldn't afford to wait any longer.

They traveled northwards with a growing sense of unease, like they had some unfinished business to do. And then, Simba spoke.

"I have a feeling... that we should visit F—Shujaa's cave. That there's something there that... shouldn't be.

* * *

Logic said that it was a waste of time, and a serious risk. But the Pride Landers and Tanga traveled through the Jungle towards their warrior's cave with an ever-increasing sense of urgency; so that by the time they were at its doorstep, they were moving at a brisk run.

The first sight that met their eyes was a welcoming one: Chukizo and Maisha's skeletons had lain unperturbed. But beyond that.

"Oh my Spirits," Kiara gasped, covering her mouth with a paw, "what is _this_?"

In the Pride Land's main waterhole, there were crabs. As a cub, Sarabi had sometimes snuck out at night time to play with them, sometimes with Mufasa... but then, that was a different lifetime, when safety wasn't such a pressing concern as it was in these troubled times. Back then, the small crustaceans were the size of her paws, and the lioness had chased and tapped at them under the careful gaze of the moon, when evil and the Bloody Shadows were just bad dreams.

There was the smell of crab _everywhere_, but no other evidence of it...

"Wait."

That was Tanga. All eyes turned towards the old lion as he carefully padded over to the deep, huge pool of water and peeked in.

Silently, he walked back.

"I think that the shell of this... crab animal was pushed into there. But there's something else... I don't think it's just me. It's not a smell... more of a feeling. That something else was here, something bad, something that managed to kill this creature..."

Tanga looked around, and everyone present nodded.

"I used ta like bein' here," Banzai said, "but now, this place gives me th' creeps..."

Ed was shivering slightly, teeth chattering, and no one had the heart to tell him that there was nothing wrong... because, as far as they could tell, something was _very_ wrong.

"So..." Simba said, letting out a deep breath... suddenly, it seemed incredibly foolish to come to Freak's cave, "I suppose we should head to the Pride Lands now... it's not far from here."

Slowly, the Pride Landers began to nod, and then, moved off into the Jungle, again, trading stealth for speed. Two conversations started, and, out of respect, those that weren't involved in them turned their ears away.

The royal family found themselves looking curiously as Tanga as they moved through the lush forest... the old lion must have surpased Sarabi in age, and yet, he moved as gracefully and stealthily as they did, forcing them to realize that for all his virtues, Freak was not invincible...

"Tanga..." the Lion King said, and the old lion looked over with an inquisitorial grunt, "tell me," the tan lion said, before pausing, "who are you? Where do you hail from, and who are your parents?"

"My parents..." the old lion said, and then shook his head, "I have no way of being certain. But I believe now, after pondering that question for _years_ on a... sensitive mission..."

Curses. He hadn't thought that far ahead.

But Simba just sighed.

"Don't deny it, you are, or were, one of the Bloody Shadows' Assassins... don't—" the Lion King said, cutting off whatever excuses the old lion was about to mouth by raising a paw, and looking away, "it's alright. It's in the past now; you were imprisoned by them, and I can see that you're repentant..."

It was a risk. A huge risk. But in the past few months, so many good things had happened to the Pride Lands, even in such trying times, when Simba followed the footsteps of Kiara and Kovu, and not Mufasa and Ahadi. And not only did war demand adherence to morals and ethics, it demanded _stricter_ adherence to morals and ethics. And this _was_ a lion, after all... it was a risk. A huge risk. But a calculated risk. Now was the time to forgive, forget, and fight as one fist alongside one Warrior, against another...

Nala, again, still seemed skeptical, but out of respect for her mate, she kept quiet, at least, for the moment. Kiara was off with Kovu, and Sarabi seemed to support her son, but then, what kind of mother wouldn't?... the Lion King was reminded, uncomfortably, of Zira, who was presumed to have died only a few months earlier.

* * *

"So, uh, Usiku..." said Shenzi, drawing away from Banzai, Ed, T, and Uvuli and towards the black male, "...whatchu mean when you said that my parents made that crazy journey over th' Western Volcanoes?..."

The ex-Assassin gave the younger hyena a somewhat grave look before explaining.

"Your parents... were..." how to put this?... "captured. By Assassins. I was just a cub back then, so no, I wasn't involved. Anyway, they were split up, and my father, Kivuli, had his way with both of them. Your father was beaten, badly, and your mother... well, it's safe to say that my so-called father did to your mother what he did to every female that caught his eye. And rumor had it..." Usiku paused, and looked directly into Shenzi's eyes before speaking, "that when your parents were finally released from the Shadows, weeks later... that your mother was pregnant."

Shenzi was a tough hyena. That's why she was the undisputed leader of the Outland and Shadow Land hyenas, the leader of leaders in the eyes of her clan. It tooka _lot_ to shake her... but finding out her true parentage just might.

"What are you sayin'? That Kivuli was my real dad? That you're my half-brother?"

The black hyena firmly shook his head.

"No. Kivuli was never your father; he was never mine, either. Fatherhood is a relationship... independent of blood. Kivuli's blood may flow in your veins, if the rumors are to be believed, but..." the older hyena shook his head, "your father is whom you've called 'Father' for your entire life. The only thing that's really different now, is, I suppose, us... sister."

Shenzi was silent for a long moment. And then she spoke, softly.

"I always felt a... sorta connection to ya, Usiku. I thought it was somethin' else, but... well, I'm glad that I know it's 'cause we're siblings. Nothin' else," the hyena said.

The black male nodded gravely, but then smiled, and spoke with a slight quaver in his voice.

"Don't blame yourself too much," he said, "there aren't many females that can keep their paws off of this..."

Shenzi playfully growled, then headbutted the older hyena in the shoulder, and kept walking at his side.

"Shhya, well," she scoffed, "th' females in this family ain't like most. Most hyenas don't like lions, fa' instance... or, should I say, part lions..."

Usiku looked over at his daughter. She was chatting with T and Kiara, trying to fit in with the other females in her new juvenile status. It was slightly unnerving for the former two to see Uvuli speaking not up to them but amongst them.

Cubhood was so short... but for some, it was even shorter.

* * *

"Well..." said Tanga slowly, "I'm glad to hear that. ...Very, _very_ glad," he added, smiling somewhat sadly at the suspicious look at Nala gave him, "anyway, as I was saying... I've thought of a few possibilities. All are unlikely, but they're the best that I've come up with."

"One is that I'm of the Falme. I could be the offspring of a rogue lion of the far east," he said, referring to the scarcely known lands of the Eastern Jungle and beyond, "and a Falme lioness. It's obvious why my parents, or at least my mother, would have sent me to the Bloody Shadows."

"The other is that I'm of the Pride Lands, or the Desert, or the Lower Plains, or perhaps even the White Sands of the Northeast."

Simba's brow furrowed. The White Sands of the Northeast... they were to the north of the Eastern Jungle. And the Eastern Jungle was cut-off enough; one had to go through the Falme or across the Eastern Volcanoes to get to the Unexplored Regions that dominated the southeast border of the Land of the Spirits. There was the _remote_ possibility of crossing the huge river that ran across the west of the Forbidden Island and then to the south of it, against the northeast of the Bloody Shadows and the north and northeast of the Pride Lands; and then clambering over the hostile, dangerous terrain of the Northern Rocklands. That land was semi-volcanic, and had only sparse vegetation; there wasn't enough infrastructure to support prey, and, therefore, predator. Back in the days of Mohatu, all lion prides had had occasional congregations that included even the rogues of the east... but soon, the prides had lost any interest in maintaining relationships. And so, they'd all been out of contact with one another for generations now.

"So, you theorize that you're an illegitimate cub... and that your parents, or at least one of them, abandoned you to avoid embarrassment?" the Lion King asked, shaking himself out of his trance.

Tanga nodded, tasting the bitterness of the revelation that he'd tentatively accepted years ago. But he tilted his head slightly when the tan lion firmly shook his head.

"There's no shame in being who you are. You've done no wrong by being born, Tanga... if anything, your parents are to blame for your parentage. If your guesses are correct, that is."

There was silence for a few moments, then Kiara spoke up.

"So... Shujaa will fight for live. And this twin of his, whoever, or whatever, it is... they'll fight for death. Every fight has a winner and a loser; because in this case, surrender or negotiation is not an option. So... how's Shujaa going to fight? And how can we help him?"

Simba smiled a little.

"Right now... well, we cannot pursue Shujaa," he said, and Uvuli's ears drooped slightly, "and according to Mohatu's predictions, the other warrior will be given gifts, in a way, from evil."

"Now, I think it's okay to assume that the Spirits still have some control over their lands. None of us have had any encounters with them for some time now, but things are far from as bad as they can be. The Spirits are still fighting, and, I think, when Shujaa gives them a chance, they'll help him, too."

"But as far as what we can do... we can take the Pride Lands back, first of all. And then, accept all refugee lions... because Mohatu said that war demands not only respect for ethics, but it demands the utmost of attention to morality, and acceptance for all victims of evil," the tan lion said.

"So, that's what it is, huh..." Banzai said, then looked up, "we're at war, huh...?"

The Lion King gave the hyena, then all of his subjects, a grave look.

"Yes. We're at war."

* * *

The dogs had returned to fighting against the lions with renewed vigor. They hadn't suffered grievous casualties at the scaled clutches of the lizards—both sides had decided, after some blood-letting, that their best option was to concentrate on the lions of the Desert, and after that, fight each another over the Desert again.

It wasn't fair, not even in the slightest. Again, the lionesses began to lose their home inch by bloody inch.

* * *

Adhabu and Freak were in the far south of the Wet Forest. They'd spent two nights in the Forest now, consecutively, and were now headed to the southeast, towards the tip of the Forest; the part that was surrounded by the Rocklands.

They had no delusions of sparking a war between the lizards and the dogs, there were just too many eyes on the heavily militarized borders of the southern parts of the Land of the Spirits for that to be a possibility.

What their intention was was to gather intelligence on the lizards themselves. Samehe hardly knew anything about them—until the war, they'd done their own thing; neither interacting with nor posing threats to any lions. Who was their leader? How did they govern themselves? Did they have any weaknesses?

Freak had even gotten the go-ahead to take any necessary steps to destabilize the lizards' alliances to each another if possible. Adhabu couldn't help but watch the li-tigon in awe every second of every day—his life had been a _thousand_ times more difficult and painful than hers, and yet, here he was, doing his duty to the Desert without reservation.

That's why her love to him was genuine.

"Adhabu..." the li-tigon whispered, and the dark lioness perked up, "wait here. I think there's a way to get past the dogs... I'll check it out, and be back here within half an hour. If I'm not, assume the worst, and—"

"Sorry, Shujaa," the female rasped, "I'm not gonna go anywhere."

"..."

There was a slight rustling sound, and Adhabu felt a slight feeling of fur brushing past her side, though saw nothing... and yet, she accepted Freak's display of affection for what it was.

She was reaching through to him.

And so, the lioness waited, dutifully, like a wife waiting for her husband to return home from work. The half hour mark came and went, and yet, Adhabu felt neither fear nor anxiety. She knew that her Freak was the greatest fighter in the land, and that he would never, ever be killed without her knowing about it.

Hours passed.

Then, the li-tigon materialized into being right in front of her, out of nowhere. Adhabu couldn't help but perk up slightly in happiness.

"I found a way through," Freak said, "but it's a little difficult. If you're not up to it... we can just turn back."

The dark lioness scoffed, and stood, walking directly past the male, running her tail across his cheek.

"Never happen... Adhabu turning away from her duty, from what she loves to do 'cause it's a little dangerous? Never happen..."

Freak let out a slight sigh, and followed the dark lioness.

"Alright... but don't say that I didn't warn you..."

* * *

"No, HELL no! Never happen!"

"I told you that it was going to be difficult..."

"Yeah, but f—freakin'..." the lioness had to speak loudly to be hard over the roar of the dark, deep, fast-moving river, "swimming down the Dark River of the South? That's crazy!"

The li-tigon looked down. The river had cut its way into the Wet Forest and the Rocklands, and was several feet below the swampy, rocky ground he stood on. The border was at least a mile away, and this part of the Forest was completely unguarded. Rain clouds gathered again, and it was overcast as it began to drizzle, chilly drops of water sprinkling on the cats, their breaths condensing as they left their snouts.

Freak felt no fear. All he saw was another one of nature's illusions. And this illusion, like any, could be defeated.

"We're not going to swim down it..." the li-tigon said, then looked at Adhabu, then past her, at a hollow tree trunk, "but we are going to traverse it."

The dark lioness watched, incredulously, as Freak crawled directly _into_ the log... his fur stood out against its dark interior, but hers matched it almost perfectly...

* * *

(Ever heard of the 38th Parallel?)

Tense, tense, tense...

The dogs were to the northwest of the Dark River, the lizards were to the south. There were two dozen dogs, and ten lizards, smaller ones, and one twenty foot long monster. The Southern Dragons, they were called, and though they numbered in the mere dozens, even one of them could single-handedly take down at least a dozen dogs, if not more.

Both sides knew that they were in a temporary ceasefire, of sorts, but neither side wanted to blink. They knew that the day that they would turn their attacks away from the lionesses of the Desert and towards each other drew near.

"Hark at the dogssssss of the Wet Foressssst..." the Dragon said, and the dogs' ears perked up, "ssssso ssssstrong and brave... ssssstanding at the edge of the Dark River. And yet, all it would take is one little _ssssslip_," the Dragon said, sliding his powerful tail along the ground for emphasis, "for them to be ssssshhhhhown for what they truly are... cowardsssss..."

The younger dogs' lips twisted into snarls, but a firm command to _hold_ from their leader calmed them—slightly. But they looked back at the lizards with malicious pleasure as the oldest dog delivered his retort.

"Aha, but what of the so-called Southern Dragons?" he said, and the lizards looked up as one, "huge, blundering oafs, the lot of them. Their size is nothing more than the Spirits' way of expressing something for them... pity."

"Ahh," the Dragon hissed, walking up angrily to the bank of the river, "sssssilence! Before I sssssee fit to teach you your mannersssss—"

"Don't toy with me," the dog snarled, "you don't have the _guts_ to try anything. And I don't blame you," he said, not caring that things were getting more tense than ever, the Dark River was large enough to prevent either side from attacking without a great deal of preparation, "your packmate died in our Forest without even being able to call for help—"

"Sssstop!" the Dragon growled, "that'sssss enough. One day, I ssssswear, I will punissssshhhhh you. But not today... our Lands are close to war," the lizard said, and, slowly, both sides began to calm, if slightly, "it would be ssssshhhhhameful for all of usssss if we were to begin it. After all, the distance between usssss and war is sssssmall..." for emphasis, the lizard flicked a small pebble into the Dark River with a claw

Just then, a log, a huge, heavy, dark log thundered down the river, in between the two sides.

The Dragon's scaled brow furrowed as he stared after the log. There was nothing significantly different about it, but... it was just a few fractions of a degree warmer than it should have been.

"Ssssso sssssmall..."

* * *

The log was tossed and turned, buffeted by the powerful current. It continued its harrowing journey for a mile past the border, and then smashed up against the jagged rock of the Southern Rocklands, shattering into pieces that bounced around inside of the small, hollowed-out area near the river.

Two of those pieces were furred.

Adhabu shook rapidly as Freak coughed several times, bringing up some of the water in him, then took in a long, rattling breath.

"What, you didn't like it?" the dark lioness said, grinning slightly, "I was scared at the beginning... but you know what? Water's not so bad, I think I could get used to it."

"Well... I'm glad _you_ enjoyed it," Freak said flatly, "I've never been so cold and wet in my entire life... the Southern Rocklands aren't far from the Desert,why is it so—what are you doing?"

Adhabu had started to nuzzle at the li-tigon's chest.

"Oh, nothin'..." she said casually, "just drying you off, warming you up... we're in the Southern Roclands, Shujaa. We need all our wits about us, and being cold and wet's... a distraction."

The li-tigon seemed to relent, and sat back, allowing the dark lioness to wick away the dampness in his fur. He stared straight ahead, emotionlessly, and Adhabu sighed as she backed away, giving her Freak his much-needed space.

Adhabu turned away and began to look for any points of interest: patrols, congregations of lizards, Dragons, or—

Her eyes widened as she felt a cold, wet nose touch her shoulder.

"Thank you," Freak said, as he smiled suddenly and briefly at Adhabu as he passed her, "...now come," he said, hopping up a seven-foot structure with ease.

The li-tigon surveyed the Southern Rocklands, the chilly breeze ruffling his dark-tan fur, exposing, for a second, his stripes. His black eyes were clear and hard as they peered over the land until he hopped down, not bothering to speak quietly.

"The Dragons of the South see in heat. We'll stand out against the rocks, so, we have to be very careful to scent or hear them before they get too close. And if they do get too close before we can get away, find a pool of water, and jump in it. It's dangerous," the li-tigon explained that the igneous rocks of this land would be pulverized into a potentially lethal dust that, when mixed with water, became a fairly poisonous substance, "so be careful to close your nose, mouth, eyes, _and_ ears. Because if any of it gets in..." Freak shook his head, and began to walk away, "it's over."

The lizards, it seemed, were hiding out in the coves and overhangs of their land, now that it was too overcast and cold to bask in the sun. Freak and Adhabu had successfully avoided conflict... but they needed to get back to the Desert soon. Because Samehe and the Desert Warriors were taking a beating, and if they lost control of all of the Desert, there would no longer be any reason to fight. They'd be shamed, and, in keeping with the harsh sense of justice that had ruled the Desert for generations, would have to commit suicide.

"_Harsh,"_ Freak thought, as he peeked over a small protrusion of rock, peering over a vast landscape of nothing but mercilessly, jagged edges without a hint of softness or care, _"that's how the world is."_

"You know..." Adhabu said, padding up behind the li-tigon so silently that if she hadn't spoken, he'd never have known she was there, "I kind of can stand this place, Shujaa. Don't get me wrong, the Desert's my only home and I love it, but... dang," Adhabu said, charcoal-brown fur shifting in the chilly wind of the Southern Rocklands as she approached Freak's side, "I wouldn't mind vacationing here."

The li-tigon looked at the lioness. They were in the cat equivalent of prone; that is, they were on all four paws with their torsos lowered to the steep incline of the dull gray hill that gave them a bird's eye view of the Rocklands. Freak had to scoff. This land was so much like Adhabu herself—dark, forbidding, silent, and yet, in its own way, endearing. Its harshness, its sharpness, but the way that, with effort, it bent to the will of anyone strong enough to take the effort made Freak wonder if Adhabu, too, had another side—not a softer side, just... a more manageable one.

Of course, the answer to that was clear. That was the side that she showed when she insisted on taking over Msaka's normal duty of hunting for the pride, or what remained of it, anyway. That was the side she showed on the rare occasion that Sikia's infectious optimism and happiness spread to her. And that was the side that she showed when she was around Freak.

"_Maybe I'm not as bad as I used to think. Maybe I'm good, when... people put enough effort into me. I swear,"_ the li-tigon thought, _"after we win this war, I'll go back to the Pride Lands. I'll even take any of the Desert Warriors with me, if they want to come—Grandmother won't live much longer" _he acknowledged to himself without much emotion, _"and each day, she grows less and less stubborn in her insistence that the lionesses fight on to save their pride... but a pride isn't a Pride until it has males, cubs, family. The Desert Pride is broken... but perhaps, its survivors can look to a new life among the Pride Landers."_

"What's up?" asked Adhabu, shaking Freak out of his trance, "something on your mind, Shujaa?"

"...No. Just thinking," the li-tigon said, and coolly vaulted over the top of the hill, followed by the dark lioness after only a second.

All was silent for a moment.

"Adhabu... after Grandmother's gone, do... you think that you, and Sikia, and Shindani, and Msaka would join me... and come with me back to the Pride Lands? There's nothing left here in the Desert. No pride, no—"

"That's only if you go," the dark lioness said dully, cutting in, "you don't get it, do you, Shujaa? This is our home. And if we don't fight for our home, well... what will we fight for?"

The li-tigon was silent for a moment. The mission, thus far, had been a complete and utter failure—they hadn't found anything out about their newest enemies, and they'd left the others alone to an endless retreat that might not even be ended upon their return.

"...Each other."

Time passed.

Now, it was dusk.

The sun broke out for a few brief moments, startling the Southern Rocklands out of its dark reverie. A few rays of bright sunlight splayed out over the horizon, reflecting and refracting through the lands craggy, sharp features.

Adhabu and Freak were heading north. It was slow going due to the difficult terrain, and the fact that they'd only been able to eat the occasional rodent—they didn't dare try to sneak into an abandoned cave where the lizards managed to cling to life by hunting... who knew what.

They were now nearing the border, and took care to take cover every few silent steps, and keep low. This part of the border was as heavily militarized as any; the lizards were on one side of a group of hastily-erected logs and rocks, and the dogs were on the other.

But between the cats and the lizards was a huge, deceptively calm lake.

Freak and Adhabu walked up to its edge, and glanced in. It seemed that there was a tunnel in it... but there was no way of knowing where, if anywhere at all, that tunnel led to.

Still.

The Desert Warriors needed them. And every minute they spent delaying their return to the Desert was a minute in which the Desert, or one of its lions, could fall.

"It's risky…" Freak said bluntly, "but there's no choice. We can't hope to swim up the Dark River, and there's nothing here in the Rocklands to use to distract the lizards. We have to take the chance," he said, "…everyone's counting on us. They need us."

Adhabu nodded once, and waded into the chilly, somewhat murky water. She didn't shudder as she did, but Freak did, slightly, his mane vibrating around his husky, darkish frame.

"Heh... wimp," the dark lioness rasped, playfully splashing a bit of water at the li-tigon, earning a sardonic, somewhat irritated look in return, "... kidding..." Adhabu sighed.

The li-tigon only walked forward until he was up to his shoulders in the relatively cold water—for him, anyway, but then, he was a Jungle cat. Adhabu was clearly more adapted to colder weather, having grown up in the Desert—that's what Freak told himself until he decided that Adhabu was strong... in her own ways.

The dark lioness puttered around, curiously tapping at this rock, prodding at that pebble. She was, after all, feline. She heard a sloshing sound—and was completely overcome by a relative tsunami in the still lake.

Then, a second later, sputtered, shaking herself off; she was utterly waterlogged.

"Shujaa, what—"

"Wimp. Come on..." the li-tigon said flatly, but then added, in a warmer tone as the dark lioness looked at him with an expression in between complete hilarity and irritation, "come on. Samehe and everyone else are counting on us."

* * *

Noon.

The Desert sun shone down on its last inhabitants with enough light and heat to make them pant, slightly. They moved as quickly as they could to the north, desperately thirst for a drink from the waterfall that spilled down into their land from the Jungle. They knew better than to look to the west for food or water—Samehe had once gone on a month-long scouting journey to that area, and had returned to tell only of a bare land with the occasional tuft grass on its hard, dry soil and scarce foodstuffs.

Not saying a word to one another as they ran, the lionesses tried to just not think about what had happened.

"_If we lose that much land in just half of a day, we'll lose all of the Desert in a week. Or less,"_ Samehe thought, as her paws flew across the hot sand.

And yet, the Desert Slayer couldn't blame her Warriors. All of them were injured, and even though Msaka had tried her best, she still wasn't moving as fast or as powerfully as she used to, yet—the wound she suffered had been grievous.

They reached the oasis, and immediately all crouched down, tails lashing about in relief as they drank. It hadn't been so unbearably hot, even for the lionesses, for some time now. And being that their enemies had a _huge_ numerical advantage and had the ability to retreat, or have supply-lines of purified Forest water, the heat didn't affect them as badly.

They'd killed two Stalkers and at least five other dogs. Four lizards were also killed, but they hadn't gone down without a fight. Flanked by dozens of their comrades, the coalition had pushed far. The lionesses were tired, injured... and their morale had taken a severe beating.

That was a wound that was more difficult to heal than the fresh wounds that crisscrossed their bodies.

But Samehe spoke, as the rest of the lionesses drank, just to do what she could to lessen the blow of nearly imminent defeat: the combined efforts of the lizards of the Southern Rocklands and the dogs of the Dark Forest were not easily fended off.

"Warriors..." she said in a tone that told the younger cats that they could keep drinking, "let's be fair. Today, we didn't do as well as we need to. But..."

Samehe paused. Who was she fooling? Even if they had another five lions, they would never be able to hold back or fight off both enemy forces at once. That, and... the Desert Slayer's age was finally catching up with her. Perhaps it was the appearance of her grandson that had caused it; it was like she no longer had a reason to live.

"_We're not going to abandon the Desert. Ever."_

"Warriors..." the old lioness said, and now, the younger cats looked at her, "Sikia. Tomorrow, it's your turn to go into the Wet Forest. The only way we're going to win, or at least subdue this war is if we kill the Forest Lord. Tomorrow. It's going to be hard... but it's the only way. My grandson will have to attack him. Then, you'll have to rush back to the Desert, so that we can stop fighting and go in to reinforce him and get him out. We'll post a sentinel to make that easier for you. It's the only way," Samehe said, "...can you do this? I know it's a lot, but—"

"Oh, it's okay, Samehe," the youngest lioness said brightly, positively bouncing over to the Desert Slayer to sit down just in front of her and look up with a wide smile, "this is my home. I'll do whatever I need to to protect it, and its residents."

Samehe looked down at Sikia warmly, and reached out to ruffle her tan headfur.

"...Goofball. Don't ever change," she said, and as Msaka and Shindani leaned down to drink again, Samehe added quietly, "you're the youth of this group. You're so important to us, because without you, Sikia, we'd all be as pissed off as Shindani."

"Don't ever change."

* * *

The freezing water struck Freak like a sledgehammer. He had to concentrate to not gasp in surprise and hold the oxygen in his lungs. Adhabu was ahead of him, and he struggled to match her speed.

Every passing second was like a day of agony to the li-tigon. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't move properly, and the mineral-ridden water stung his dark eyes.

The dark lioness glanced back, and gave him a look that said that he'd better hurry up, because they were too far to turn back now.

And Freak swam faster.

Looking back, he wasn't quite sure when he ran out of energy, or air. All he knew that was at one point, he found himself swimming slower and slower, his skin becoming clammy from the chilly water. The dark, bottomless abyss below him seemed almost welcoming...

Luckily, when that happened, there wasn't much left to go. Still, Freak was a full-grown, or nearly full-grown li-tigon. Fortunately, he was noticeably smaller than either a lion or tiger, and that helped.

Looking back, though, Freak would always find it a source of slight amazement that Adhabu had managed to pull his hundreds of pounds of weight along, then up through the surface of a small pond in the Dark Forest.

Sputtering, coughing, Freak was only able to get to his feet minutes later. Only then did the dripping wet Adhabu remember to shake herself off, to avoid becoming even colder than she already was. But he dark lioness's fur was like a barrier to the intense chill of the water. So, her teeth weren't chattering too much, unlike Freak's.

They had to move along together, side-by-side, for the rest of the journey through the Dark Forest. They encountered no overly-attentive patrols, and that helped.

Freak was exhausted, chilled, and only when he and Adhabu broke free of the Wet Forest to trot across the Desert did he face the dark lioness, and give her a heartfelt, shivering smile.

"Thank you, Adhabu, thank you. You saved me."

"Thank you."

* * *

The Western Forest was silent. Dogs slept, pigs wallowed around, and cats snuck around, as unseen as the vague sense of unease that had gripped the entire Land of the Spirits.

"This is delicate..."

"Hmm? What?"

"This..."

They'd found the Forest Lord. He was literally within sight. Literally.

But, as Freak had said, things were delicate.

The swamp around him was booby-trapped. The li-tigon and Sikia had encountered a trap before—a weak patch of swamp that gave way and trapped anything inside of it with sticks and mud. Only barely had Freak managed to pull Sikia out of it before a patrol came by.

There were those kinds of traps, and others; trip-wires that released suspended logs; and pits filled with sharpened sticks.

Incredible to consider that so much care had been taken to protect a being that, physically, wasn't all that intimidating.

The Forest Lord had darkish fur that was splotched with brown, as if to camouflage himself in his land. He wasn't overly muscled, he didn't even have half the build of a Forest Stalker.

What made him deadly, Freak mused, was his mind.

But the li-tigon had a deadly mind, and a deadly body. Which was why he'd win this fight.

For a good half-hour Freak and his lioness companion watched, waited, pondered. But there was simply no way to reach the Forest Lord without tripping at least one trap. Even the trees had an active denial system; thorns that loudly popped when touched.

"Delicate..." Freak repeated, as he tensed himself.

"...Shujaa..." Sikia said suspiciously, "what are you planning..."

"There's no other way to do this," the li-tigon said in a resigned tone, "but if we're strong, quick, and careful, Spirits willing, what I'm going to do will work," he said flatly.

"I'm going to run as fast as I can to the Forest Lord. I think I can kill him before any real resistance appears. As soon as I move, I need you to do the same. I need you to run to the North—ignore any dogs, just avoid them. Get to within sight of Msaka, or Adhabu, whoever's been posted. I'll be hot on your tail the entire way, but the dogs will concentrate on me more, because I'll have the blood of their leader on my paws. But I need you to ignore me, because if you slow down for a _second_, we'll both be overrun."

"The only way for both of us to get out of this alive is if you run, Sikia. Can you do that for me? For the Desert, for your sister, and your friends, and my grandmother? Can you?"

Most beings then would have become overwhelmed with emotion and clammed up in tearful appreciation or embarrassment. But emotion was what the youngest lioness lived for.

So, acting just like she was a little cub again, she rubbed her head against the crouching li-tigon as she circled him, covering him with her affection.

"Of course I can, Freaky-boy. Whenever you're ready, then," the lioness whispered, crouching down in a position perpendicular to the li-tigon's body.

"Ready... now!"

Sikia was a being that had grown up to combat. Fighting was her life, and she was good at it. But all she saw then was a _flash_. Freak as moving so fast that the traps all seemed to go off behind him.

The youngest lioness was the next one to fly, to the north, as fast her paws could carry her. She heard a yelp of shocked pain, and knew that Freak had done his job. But the sudden series of dismayed, angered, and outraged barks said that hers was now all the more vital.

"Love ya," the tan lioness smiled to herself, as she sped her way back to the Desert...

* * *

The lioness swore as she broke the neck of yet another dog in the endless array of enemies that marched towards her.

"Why—Sikia?!" she growled through gritted teeth, as she dodged the claw-strike of a lizard, then bite its side, ripping a scaled chunk of flesh away in return, "why her, why not me?!"

"Why... why... WHY?!" she roared, blocking the powerful paw of a Forest Stalker, then springing into the air, flipping around to kick the dog under the chin, "I swear... I swear..."

"_Stealing my Shujaa from me... I swear, if she were bleeding in the Desert, I'd pass her by... and swear that I never saw her! CURSE HER!"_

* * *

Sikia was starting to lose just a hint of her optimism. After all, pursuing her and Freak were _dozens_ of the Forest's dogs. She was cut, bruised, and still sprinting; but how long could she keep this up? And what about Freak, who had to bear the brunt of the attack?

Panic was now flashing over her face at regular intervals. However, the youngest lioness broke free of the Desert—

Never in her life had she been more glad to see a friendly face.

"Hey! Hey, over here!" she called, and saw the lioness—who was it? She couldn't tell, not from where she was, all she saw was a silhouette... was it Msaka, or Adhabu?

"Hey, HEY! Help!" the youngest lioness screamed, as suddenly, a dozen Forest Stalkers burst out of their home, surrounding her, biting her, beating her, tearing into her.

"HELP ME...!"

But the lioness only paused, and in the lull of her battle, made eye contact with Sikia.

And laughed.

"No, help me! PLEASE! NO..."

But the lioness only walked away, out of sight, to fight back against a new wave of enemies. The fighting in the Desert was getting intense, and confusing; positions were changing, and tactics had to be re-written on the fly.

She was going to get away with this.

None of that mattered to Sikia, however. The lioness had been running at her level best for miles, and her heart was pumping hard. So, every cut she received let more and more blood spill.

There was no peace, there was no comfort in this kind of death. All Sikia could do was stop her pathetic attempts at fighting back, and cower. She felt her fur being ripped from her, followed by muscle, a paw, and other, more gorey body parts.

All she could do was hope that Freak was going to get out of this okay... because she sure as hell wasn't.

"Shujaa..." she managed to whisper, "Shujaa... don't... lose... hope... in... ...love..."

That was her last word.

Love.

That was her last thought.

Freak

* * *

"_What's going on over there..."_ Freak thought, vaguely; after all, he didn't have much brainpower to lend to life's little mysteries; not when at least three dozen Forest Stalkers and who knew how many dogs were all making attempts on his life at once, "what are they killing..."

The li-tigon's gray eyes widened as he recognized the voice, the shape; and saw just the silhouette of a lioness disappear over a sand dune.

"_Siikia!"_

Freak knew no more, and acted on pure instinct. He dodged a paw-strike, broke a jaw with one of his own, and yelled, imitating the husky, low-pitched voice of an elder dog.

"It's a rebellion! They killed the Forest Lord; this one's just a decoy! Kill them, comrades, kill them; avenge our beloved leader!"

_That_ turned a few heads.

And just in time.

Because more dogs were coming, more dogs and lizards. But now, they didn't know what to do. And so, while Freak was _far_ from being safe, he was a little safer, as his enemies hesitated, then growled, and charged each another with cries of "traitor!"

Quickly, the li-tigon fought his way out of the frenzied pile of fur; the numerous injuries he underwent notwithstanding.

Panting openly, gasping for breath, and yet unable to stop, he dashed towards the corpse—no, it wasn't a corpse, no, Sikia had _not_ gone the same route as Maisha, Chukizo, Vitani, and every other female in his life that he'd ever cared about!

"_No, no, no, no, no, no, NO...!"_

The li-tigon collapsed at the lioness's side. The Desert was soaked with blood, her blood. And a moment later, its unrelenting sands were soaked also with the tears of a freak.

* * *

"Who... was... responsible... for... Sikia's... DEATH?!"

And Freak thought he knew anger.

Shindani was pacing back and forth before Samehe, Adhabu, and Msaka. Cursing, snarling, shedding tears, the oldest Desert Warrior didn't turn again to look at her sister, not yet, not until her death had been avenged.

She stopped, directly in front of Adhabu.

"Well... was it you? WAS IT YOU?!"

Saliva flew from her mouth, landing on the dark lioness. But the only emotion that showed on Adhabu's face was sadness.

"Or you, Msaka?" Shindani said, suddenly turning to face the huntress, glaring her straight in the eye; or at least trying too—like Adhabu, Msaka was unable to meet Shindani's harsh gaze.

"TELL ME! GOD-DAMN IT, TELL ME!"

Samehe's eyes were wet. Freak was silent, sitting at his grandmother's side—he didn't know who it was, Msaka or Adhabu, and wouldn't even look at either of them.

"Shindani... even if you find out, what will you do you? Sikia's gone. There's nothing you can do to change that—"

"Shut up, Samehe... please. Just shut up..." Shindani growled, almost begging, "don't tell me what I can and can't do. My sister's dead, you hear me? DEAD!"

But still, Shindani's questions went unanswered.

"Fine. Fine. That's how you want it? Fine..." she growled, and even Freak shivered at the sense of malice that the Desert Warrior exuded.

"Well, then... I'm going to invoke the code of the Desert..."

Samehe's eyes flashed. That harsh set of rules... that was the sort of an eye for an eye mindset that had escalated the war, that had forced Chukizo out of her home.

"If neither of you are going to tell me, so that I can exact revenge—justice--on the guilty one... then you _both_ have to commit suicide."

Msaka and Adhabu simultaneously froze. The Desert was silent; its sands darkening as the sun began to set. A breeze ruffled the fur of all the lionesses present, and the li-tigon, too, rearranging his strange, one-of-a-kind mane.

The dark lioness and the huntress looked at one another, then back ahead. They'd made their decision.

"Not going to talk... fine," Shindani said, huffing as she sat down, "do it."

Slowly, the two other Desert Warriors extended one claw each. Only then did it occur to the both of them what walking miracles they were. Each heartbeat, each breath, each thought, each action, each emotion... everything they were was a miracle; everything they were was because of the greatness of the Spirits; and everything they had become had saddened the same Spirits, and who knew how many ancestors in the process.

Samehe looked back and forth between Shindani and Msaka and Adhabu. The latter two were slowly lifting their claws to their necks... they were going to go through with this.

"Shindani, please, reconsider, would Sikia really want this—"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP, SAMEHE! SIKIA'S DEAD, AND SHE'S_ MY_ SISTER, DON'T TELL ME WHAT SHE WOULD WANT!"

Adhabu and Msaka flinched. Their claws were touching their fur now, and tears began to flow.

"Hurry up... I'm waiting..." Shindani snarled.

Both younger Desert Warriors twitched. Their ears were entirely flat as they began to press their claws into their necks, to make the incision...

"Wait... wait."

No one had ever heard Samehe talk in such a soft, quiet tone before.

That's because Samehe had never spoken before while bleeding profusely from the neck.

Freak did a double-take and froze.

"Grandmother..."

Why was her claw red with blood? Why was her neck bleeding? That didn't make sense; that would mean that Samehe had slit her throat, and why would she do that? Why...?

"Adhabu and Msaka will not die... I've sacrificed myself... for them. Shindani... they are no longer indebted to you. They're indebted to me, and I—" Samehe was croaking now, barely managing to sit up, "I order them to...do... whatever makes them... happy."

That was it: time up. The Desert Slayer fell, as if in slow motion.

Freak was the first at the side, calling her name over and over, pressing at the self-inflicted wound at her neck, trying to stop what even he knew was inevitable.

Samehe smiled up at her grandson. Despite everything she'd put his mother, and therefore, him through... he was strong. Strong, handsome, brave, loving, hopeful... and yet, after this... how would he live?

"Shujaa..." she whispered, so softly that it was inaudible under his cries, and the cries of the Desert Warriors, "Shujaa... don't... lose... hope..."

Then, it really was time up.

* * *

The Forbidden Island was in a state of tranquility, of meditation. Cretac, Altsoba, and the dozen or so other servants were calm, gathering power. They felt a spike—

"That's it," the voice of their Master said, "this ploy has worked well. I may not have been able to win all the victories I'd like to in the physical realm of the Land of the Spirits," Kifo, for instance, "but now... power... can you feel it? Can you feel it, servants?"

And then, the Master let his servants feel just a _taste_ of the power he'd amassed, bolstered greatly by the violent, evil deaths of not one but _two_ of the holiest beings in the Land of the Spirits: lions.

"Yes, Master," they answered in unison, "yes..." Altsoba said, "yes, I can feel it..."

"And now, I will use this power to send the greatest—no. The only threat to me... far, far, away. To a land in which _he will die._"

Cretac smirked. His Master did have a way with words...

"Servants—chant with me."

There was a pause, and slowly, the entire Forbidden Island started to glow a horrible, bloody shade of red.

"Exile."

"Exile."

"Exile."

"Exile..." Altsoba said, overlarge teeth flashing, "exile..."

"Exile."

Slowly, slowly, slowly but surely, the power of the Forbidden Island and the evil contained within it grew. And then, all at once, it lashed out—

* * *

"So... what now?" Adhabu said dully.

Freak was pacing back and forth, before not one body, but two. Shindani was coolly liking her paw, eyes flashing at Adhabu and Msaka. Their debts to her might have been squared... but that didn't mean that she liked them. No, that would never, ever be true again.

The li-tigon spoke flatly, bluntly, and without emotion.

"I'm going. Away from here. And I'm not going to come back. _Don't_ follow me."

"Or I'll kill you."

"I should have never forgotten the lesson I thought I learned when I was a cub..." he said, "...everyone is a threat. Everyone _is_ a threat. You... you two. Sikia trusted her. But you killed her. Everyone is a threat. Everyone is a threat, and so that I never forget that, I'll never trust anyone again. Everyone is a threat."

Freak paused in his tracks, then looked at Adhabu. Msaka's lips twisted into a snarl as he jerked his head, wanting to speak with the dark lioness alone. But Shindani growled at her, angrily, maliciously, in a manner that said that if she stuck a _toe_ out of line, that would be the end of her.

Thus ended the bonds that the Desert Warriors had shared since before cubhood. The bonds that had been made in Heaven by the Spirits, and had been destroyed in their Land, by evil.

* * *

"It was you, wasn't it."

The question was short, blunt, and to the point. Freak looked at Adhabu blankly, sitting down on the Desert's sand.

"Tell me. I just want to know. I won't do anything, and I won't tell Shindani. Just tell me."

The dark lioness teared up for the first time in _years_.

"Why me? Why do you suspect only me? It's not fair, no one ever treats me fairly, why ME?!" she yelled, tears flowing from her deep-tanned snout.

"Please, cut the bullshit..." the li-tigon said quietly, and Adhabu stiffened—she'd never heard him swear before; and for that matter, neither had he, "just tell me. It was you. Tell me."

Adhabu froze, tears flowing faster than ever. And then she ran.

Freak sat there, still. Alone, without love, without hope; as he always should have been. After all, everyone was a threat. That lesson was hard enough to learn, and the lesson that no one was to be trusted one was harder to learn still.

"_This is what it took. The death of Grandmother, and Sikia... that's what it takes for me to realize that I was never, _ever_ supposed to be near others. It wasn't them, it was me. Me. I'm bad. I'm a curse, a Freak, an abomination. I bring death to wherever I go. I'm bad..."_

"It wasn't her, you know," Msaka said quietly.

The huntress had walked up to the li-tigon quietly, and he hadn't noticed her until now.

And he paused.

Was this a confession?

"It wasn't her, it wasn't me..." the huntress murmured, "It wasn't either of us. And yet, it was both of us. It was love, Shujaa. Love. Love killed Sikia."

"_...Another lesson..."_ the li-tigon thought, "love kills..."

That was it. He'd spent enough of his life pretending. Pretending that he wasn't a Freak, that he was a Shujaa. That it was okay if he went near others. That he was worthy of love, that he should try to receive it, that there were people that _weren't_ out to hurt him.

That he wasn't bad...

He was running now. Running fast, running hard.

Running away.

And he wasn't going to come back. Ever.

He was running north, now, towards the Unexplored Regions. His claws tore up sand, and vegetation, and Spirits knew how many lives, families, and bonds.

And then, all at once—

He was gone.

* * *

(Trivia question: What do al-Mujahids do over the summer? Five reviews to continue. Five reviews to see what will happen to the Freak.)


	15. Exile I: Back To His Roots

_"Grandmother… you told me not to lose hope."_

_"And, in a way… I haven't. I've just accepted that… there never was hope. Never, not since I was born. Several times in my life, I've deluded myself into thinking otherwise."_

_"But my time with you has made me strong. And for that, I thank you. I've learned my lessons well, now. My only regret is that it took so much time…"_

_"…so much suffering…"_

_"…for me to learn them."_

_"Love kills…"_

_"Trusting others is something that a freak, an abomination like me, can never, ever do…"_

_"For Freak, there is no home but a place where the comfort that self-imposed solitude will protect others from his fate…"_

_"…the fate of Freak… is to suffer…"_

_"…And… everyone is a threat."_

He'd run from foes before. He'd escaped injury and death before, a thousand times, but this was the first time he was trying to escape the inescapable: the acknowledgment, deep in his _soul_, that for him, there was no hope…

Storm clouds were gathering above him. They were so thick, so gray, and so dark that they blotted out the sun, casting shadows upon the bleak, desolate sands of the northern Desert, where dunes gave way to grasses… then the disquieting jungles of the Unexplored Regions, from which so, so few had come out of alive…

_"It doesn't matter, though…"_

_"…if I die."_

_"Death is natural. For me, doubly so. Death comes for all animals… but death has been sent to me so many times that… that my only conclusion is that it's unnatural for me to _live_."_

_"I'm… a crime against nature. I'm an affront to every being that struggles and bears pain in the pursuit of a better life, because I have never done anything but take away anything that's worth struggling or working for."_

Consciously, Freak sheathed his claws, so that they wouldn't cut into the Desert… as if it mattered. They'd cut into so, so many things before.

The Sun had hidden behind cloud cover, so there was no great orb of light, life, and hope to beat down on the li-tigon—literally. Because, really, there was no Sun for him, no dawn in the life of a thousand hardships, a thousand wounds endured, and a thousand insults swallowed and taken to heart.

The grayness of the northern Desert was amazing; the sky was gray, the sands were gray, and the Freak was as gray as his cold, slate, gunmetal eyes. If the li-tigon was a more poetic cat, he would have said that it was like the color was being sucked out of his world. And if he was paying just a little bit more attention to things, just then, he would have realized that sometimes, poetry can be taken quite literally.

Soon, it wasn't just color that was being pulled away by some powerful, unseen force. Soon, the Desert sands were starting to be blown… _somewhere_, anyway. Freak didn't know, however; his gaze was fixed to the north, to the unforgiving, unyielding, uninhabitable Unexplored Regions. He was going to go there, he'd determined, and he was going to die there. Whether it was by the proverbial sword or by the inexorable passage of time, Freak was going to meet his end in the Unexplored Regions.

Never again would he see Simba, Kiara, Kovu, or Sarabi. Never again would he speak with Usiku, Banzi, Ed, T, Shenzi, or Uvuli. Never again would he lay with the lionesses of the Desert or the Pride Lands, or the skeletons of his family. Never again would he peer down from Pride Rock over the most beautiful, most safe, and most loving lands he'd ever experienced, and never again would he lay eyes on anything worth protecting, for fear that exposure to the sickness within him would make it wither and decay.

_"I suppose that if I live out the rest of my life alone, without even family and friends… I will have earned my fate, a thousand times over."_

_"I said that to Sikia… and now, it looks like I'm finally going to start to accept fate, or at least a part of the fate that I truly deserve. Maybe it was my fate to suffer from the beginning… but the suffering that I've brought to other people is not something that I can repent for in one lifetime alone…"_

_"I'm… going to go to Hell. I'm going to burn there forever…"_

_"…But it's okay. It's alright. I'm… not used to suffering, not really. But I swear that in whatever broken pieces remain of my life, I am going to _make_ myself suffer… I'm going to deny myself pleasure and food and water and rest. I'm going to spend every free moment devising ways to harm myself more, and I'm never going to harm another being, ever again…"_

Freak had to squint, a little. Sand was being blown all around him, quickly, making his view of the not-so-distant Unexplored Regions grainy and blurred. But he didn't stop running, not for a second.

_"I'm sick… my disease is… death. It follows me everywhere. But I think I'm starting to understand now,"_ Freak said, shutting his lips tightly, even as the wind picked up so much that the Desert sand bombarded him, assaulting him, striking against his fur with enough force to make it painful and raw.

_"I'm not supposed to outrun death. I'm supposed to outrun something else… I'm supposed to escape this… terrible, twisted mindset that I don't know where I picked up. Death follows me… but I'm like a container, in a way. So, if I stay away from things that shouldn't die…"_

_"Maybe that's the purpose of Freak. To be a dump for all the pain and suffering the world has to offer. It makes sense…"_

_"No, I'm rationalizing. The Spirits aren't so cruel to do that to me, but… I'm _terrible_… for existing. So many times have they sent death to me. So many times have they tried to quietly wipe my stain off their great land…"_

_"So many times have I resisted their will."_

_"I really am an abomination; a sin against nature. I'm a freak of the worst kind… I'm the kind of freak that denies what he is, or deludes himself into thinking that he can become something else."_

_"Because no matter what I do… I'm a freak. I always have been and I always will be. Up until now, I've been a cub. I suppose it's time for me to grow up and start to accept life,"_ he thought harshly as he continued to run, or tried to; the wind was acting strangely now, but Freak was so single-minded in his purpose that he didn't notice.

"I need to accept it…" he said out loud, allowing sand to fill his mouth without spitting it out, "I'm a stain on the Land of the Spirits, and it's high time for me to fulfill the only responsibility I have in this life… I've delayed for so long; I don't know why I didn't see it before. So many people have been hurt by me… or for me."

The li-tigon raised a paw to try to defend his muzzle, and tried to walk with three legs, struggling to hold himself to the ground.

"Now, it's my turn to meet death. I do so without reluctance or hesitation… but with enough remorse and regret to make even the most heartless of the assassins of the Bloody Shadows sicken. I've lived my life caring only about me—I've stayed with others because they make me happy. Not because I contribute to their happiness or am even slightly deserving of their warmth…"

The wind was so strong now that it was cold. Freak shivered, but managed to anchor himself to the ground still. He looked up, and finally noticed the darkness of the sky, the spiraling path the sand blew in, and the bleak lack of color in his own fur.

_"What's going on…?"_

_"Uncle Mufasa? The Spirits? Mother? Father? …I understand. You're trying to end my suffering… you're trying to bring me up to you."_

_"How… beautiful…"_

A tear spilled from Freak's eye, blasted away into dry nothingness within a second.

_"And a Heaven with a freak like me in it…"_

_"How nauseating…"_

_"It's good, then,"_ the li-tigon thought, with a sense of vague comfort, _"that my fate lies not in Heaven, but in Hell."_

_"Mother… Father… Maisha…"_ Freak thought, gritting his teeth—he wanted his last thoughts to be on the beings whose hearts were so large that they stretched to accept even him, _"Uncle Mufasa… Grandmother… Grandfather… Simba… Nala… Sarabi… Kovu… Kiara… Shindani… Adhabu… Msaka…"_

_"Sikia…"_

_"…Vitani…"_

_"Usiku… T… Shenzi… Banzai… Ed…"_

_"Uvuli…"_

_"I used to think it was weakness, on my part, to give up on being… anything to anyone. But… what use is there in fighting a lost, hopeless battle? What sense? What is there to accomplish? Nothing…"_

_"So…"_ Freak groaned, only barely clinging to the Desert, as the wind began to spiral more, pulling him upwards, "I'm sorry… sorry for making you suffer. I'm sorry for hurting you and bring death, war, and tragedy to your lands and families. And, most of all… I'm sorry for making your sacrifices…"

"…meaningless…"

"And I'm sorry for tricking you like I tricked myself. I'm sorry for thinking that—" The li-tigon was ripped from the sand and yanked into the air—

"…there was hope…"

Freak closed his eyes, in a slow, final manner… he did not intend to open them, ever again. The wind and sand pulled him, higher and higher, spinning him around in the chaotic, spiraling tornado that raged across the north Desert.

Lightning cracked across the sky, but no rain fell. Now, everything for several _miles_ was colorless, as Freak spun faster and faster and faster yet. He was limp; either unconscious or willfully submitting, for once, to fate and the will of nature.

The li-tigon was drawn to the center of the convergent winds, and, for a moment, the pressure exerted on him was comparable to an ant being trod upon by an elephant.

Then, there was a soft, low _whoosh_ing sound. Sand fell back to the desert, still colorless…

But Freak was gone. Gone from the Land of the Spirits; abducted and exiled to a distant, strange land where he could not survive…

* * *

The Lion King: The Freak

Chapter 15: Exile I: Back To His Roots

* * *

(Many apologies for the long delay, guys, and I hope I live up to your expectations. I hope you remember all the seemingly random backstory in previous chapters, because, as I've intimated before, everything will be tied together. You may need to familiarize yourself with military clock code position, as I'm going to use that system in this chapter. There's a semi-suggestive drug reference just below.)

* * *

Both were invisible to each another, mostly. Every once in a while, a flicker of motion or light would reach across the dark, humid meeting room to lend an air of eeriness to the area.

There was a scent, a soft, subtle scent of cinnamon, tobacco, and ganja that reached the nostrils of both of the room's in habitants.

A match was struck, casting a dim glow that didn't make its holder visible. It was lifted, and floated to either tip of two rolled-up cylinders, lighting them. There was a pause, as the two beings inhaled, the glowing tips of their cigarettes, then exhaled, so that thick, dark clouds of smoke curled through the air, dancing slowly. One indulgent was lowered, set on a dark, stained mahogany table. The other was kept raised, and deeply smoked again.

"So… you're sending me this warrior… to kill."

"Yes. That's precisely it. Don't worry… he's just one being."

A pause.

"He's one being that you could not take care of alone."

"…Yes. Which is why I'm sending him to you. Your land… it'll be foreign to him. I don't know what kind of creature he is; that information has still eluded me. But whatever he is… he cannot survive there. This freak may have many oddities about him, but nothing can prepare him for—"

"I wonder…" another puff of smoke slid through a set of viciously sharp, serrated teeth to twist into the air, "you are so sure of my capabilities, though you cannot eliminate a single being yourself… I am flattered, but I have to wonder: you are a powerful being. Your land is more orderly than mine, so you have a greater deal of control and foresight than I; I merely direct chaos, violence and death… you create it. So… if you cannot destroy this freak, this warrior… how can I? Why do you trust me to do this?"

There was another pause. Both cigarettes were lifted, and used for a long, long moment. Two low, soft hisses were heard, and twin plumes of thick, powerful smoke billowed into the air, dancing in the dim, soft light.

"Because… that's what friends are for…"

There was a pause… then low, growling, threatening, humorless laughter.

"You are good, my… heh… friend. Well… I suppose I'll see what I can do about this freak. Leave him in my control; he'll be finished within a week. But don't think this is charity," the other voice began to fade; it was getting time for them to leave, "you owe me, my friend."

"Of course…"

The dripping, malicious, purring tone of assent was unmistakable. He was so relieved to be rid of the one thorn in his side, the one obstacle to complete dominance of the Pride Lands that he was willing to take on a debt to a being nearly as powerful as he. Perhaps this freak wasn't as weak as he was letting on…

But still. The land the freak would be sent to was _harsh_. In fact, it was getting to be the Season of the Rains; when so much water was dumped on the land that all kinds of animals drowned in floods or were killed in landslides.

The room started to darken, and its two occupants turned, in a fashion, to leave. Flicking a bit of ash to the ground, the one with serrated teeth grinned.

"No… he will _not_ live…"

* * *

The sky was dark, its clouds fat with raindrops that would not yet fall. Trees—not so dissimilar, perhaps, to the trees found in the Jungle or the Eastern Jungle of the Land of the Spirits—blotted out what little moonlight pierced the lingering atmospheric moisture, so that on the ground, it was pitch black.

All was still, for a moment, then, a ghost appeared…

Though it as oppressively dark, her white fur made her stand out in the forest. She seemed to glow, as an angel might, before a darker, more camouflaged figure jumped on her, holding her down.

"I think we can be fairly certain there are no hunters here…" he murmured, before looking down at his mate, flirtatiously, and gently giving her a sort of kiss; nudging his nose against her cheek.

She smiled, and in a delicate voice that sounded like a stream flowing through a patch of lotuses, spoke.

"I agree. Daughter—come. It's safe," she said, raising her voice as much as she dared. "At least… as safe as it can be within five miles of the Triangle of Pain."

The male released her, and sniffed several times, angling his head so as to pick up as many scents as possible. Then, he hissed, and strode into the treeline, jumping a little as the leaves of a large bush folded up at his approach.

_"Just a balsam…"_

He looked down, and leaning towards the forest floor. There were few snakes so close to the Triangle of Pain; men hunted them down and killed them in order to make this lives as easy and safe as possible.

So, that was at least one less danger to worry about.

And now, so close to the Season of the Rains, the fair-skinned men who still entered the villages from places that one's ancestors only knew would have returned to their homes.

One less danger to worry about.

But… so close to the villages of men, there were mongooses. Many of them. Their small, scattered militias harassed beings like him everywhere, but here, they were so ubiquitous that they could quite easily kill him…

So, if his daughter ran into mongooses, she wouldn't last ten seconds, regardless of how quick she was. And now, so late at night, the mongooses patrolled the outside regions of the Triangle of Pain, exterminating snakes and other small pests, and practicing their strange, unsettling religion.

One big danger to worry about.

"When I find her, I swear to my mother that I will beat at least some discipline into her," he growled, using a paw to tap the ground, testing it for the telltale depressions of a small, shallow pugmark, "that girl needs to learn some common sense; you do not leave your parents within spitting distance of the three worst man villages in this land!"

There was no sign of her, however, and he soon ground his teeth, and moved out to the west—his daughter had a habit of following the sun, wherever it seemed to go.

"You always promise that you will punish her," his mate said, smiling a little as she calmly followed him. She quite purposefully bumped her shoulder into his, getting an irritated grunt in reply.

"_Wah wah_, and this time, I _will_ punish her. Is she brainless? This is the most dangerous part of Hi—" he stopped in his tracks, and turned, looking upwards. His eyes narrowed and tightened, but his mouth split into a relieved smile when he heard a quiet, muffled giggle.

"I would say, dear husband, that she is not brainless. You, on the other hand, are just a little _quick_," the female said, brushing the underside of his chin with her tail, "to judge."

The male shook himself, once, then walked over to the bottom of the tree. He reared up onto his hind legs, and placed his forepaws on the tree. He pressed, hard, shaking it a little, so that that quiet, high-pitched giggle was heard again.

"I know you're up there, little one…" he said sternly, trying to keep a straight face, "so, come down. You are a tigress; daughter of Nasher and Asal! Show some class; don't act like a monkey."

A small, orange and white face poked out of a group of thick leaves. The tigress kitten's tongue slid out from between her lips for a second as she giggled at her father.

"Why not, Father? I'm having fun!" she grinned, before disappearing back into the tree.

A few gleeful squeals were heard as she scampered around, probably chasing a small lizard or insect. On the ground, her father grew upset, and shook the tree a little more vigorously

"Hey…" he said, in a deep, growling voice, "behave, daughter, and don't make me come up there, because if I do, I'm bringing a beating with me."

There was no reply; the kitten just continued her silly antics. On one level, Nasher had to admit, even to himself, that it was incredible and comforting, in a way, that even in such a time, even in such a place, kittens were kittens. But, on another, they were mere miles from the Triangle of Pain, and the animals in this area of the world were so against apex predators, like his family, that it was said the Earth itself sometimes opened up to swallow tigers and lions.

Fun was fun, but, like all good things, fun had to eventually end.

The male was skirting the edge of irritation when his wife spoke.

"Kochai, come along… that's enough. We need to find a safe place to sleep and hunt from, very soon, yes? Now be a good girl, and come down."

There was silence, for a brief moment. Then, a small orange and white ball neatly, and quietly leaped out of the tree. She fell through the air gracefully, but she'd jumped from over twenty feet—as a kitten, she would be injured; perhaps even seriously.

"Wait! Careful!" both parents hissed, moving quickly to catch the kitten.

They were too slow, however, and the young tigress hit the ground, hard—with her forepaws. She flipped over, rolling, so that the energy of the impact spread out over her back. There was enough force that when she was upright again, she could jump up, straight towards her rushing father—which she did.

"_Ar**é**_…" the aging tiger groaned, shaking his head, "Asal, get this crazy kitten off me."

The tigress stifled laughter, and walked over, Her daughter giggled, still clutching tightly to her father's head, pressing his snout into her belly and blinding him with her golden fur. She managed to cling for a moment yet, but was finally pulled off by her mother's dainty, but powerful paw.

Kochai was set down, and giggled triumphantly at her father, as the old tiger struggled to use his paw to straighten his facial fur. After shooting her daughter an exasperated look, Asal joined in, flattening and aligning that majestic fur; noting, with pride, that it hadn't lost a shade of shininess since they'd been together.

Finally, with his fur corrected, Nasher turned to his daughter with a threatening growl. Kochai abruptly stopped giggling, and backed away, more than a little wary of her father just then. Asal gave her mate a worried look, but didn't step in.

_"For tigers to be close to one another so much… it's not natural. This isn't how things are supposed to be. It's wrong… and… it's natural for little slip-ups to happen, even around such a great male as my mate. All I can do, I think, is pray for him."_

_"So sad is the day when all we have for comfort is religion, and not certainty, in our minds, that our lives, our children, and our loved ones are safe from _one another_…"_

In the end, that's all Asal did. She closed her ice-colored eyes, and murmured a series of quiet chants, over and over, before feeling, perhaps, the slight spark of a wish being granted.

Nasher was still advancing on his daughter, who was trapped against a tree. Her ears were flat and her head was hung, as she prepared to accept a painful blow—

Instead, however, the kitten received a gentle, almost playful tap on her nose. Blinking, confused, she looked up, to see a wide, sad smile on her father's weather-beaten face.

"There is no sense in punishing what will never, ever happen again," Nasher said quietly, leaning down to plant a soft kiss on his daughter's forehead before leaning back and allowing his eyes to narrow and his lips to peel back a few inches, baring twin rows of razor-sharp teeth, "_right_?"

"Of course not… oh, thank you, Father," the young tigress said, moving forward instantly to rub her soft, blunt head against the male's forepaws until he stopped her, raising her chin and making eye contact with her.

"Come," the tiger said, suddenly moving his paw past Kochai's face and pushing to playfully knock the cub over, "we still must find a temporary home to stay at for a few days…"

"…Before we come up with a more permanent plan, for a more permanent home. Hindustan is no longer a home for tigers," he said, turning to glance back at his family, a grim expression hardening his face, "and no amount of prayer can change that."

* * *

_"So…"_

_"Death, it seems, is too good for me."_

_"…My suffering, it seems… has only begun."_

Full consciousness hadn't returned, yet, but it didn't matter. Thinking on a level less deep and instinctual would lead to the same conclusions.

_"I don't mind, but… _why_…"_

_"The Spirits are creatures of mercy and compassion; Simba relayed that message from Uncle Mufasa, who relayed it from Ahadi, who relayed it from Mohatu."_

_"Still… I suppose it makes sense."_

Slowly, he got to his feet, blinking rapidly to clear his blurred vision. Consciousness was still out of reach, but now, its return was imminent. No—clearly, death was not in store for him… not _yet_.

_"I've… killed."_

_"I've killed for food."_

_"I've killed for glory,"_ he thought, remembering the crime he'd committed in the former Dark Zone of the Jungle of the Land of the Spirits.

_"I've killed out of apathy,"_ he thought, remembering every time he'd left a cub to _die_ after he'd left their dead mother's milkless body.

_"I've taken innocent beings and cowardly used them as shields when all others want to do is give me the justice I deserve a thousand times over,"_ he thought, remembering Uvuli, and Kovu.

_"I've killed the weak and defenseless, because I don't care enough to help or protect them… I've slaughtered whole families,"_ he thought, remembering the grave sin he'd committed in the Shadow Lands against the hyena clan… a group that hadn't had stability or peace for generations.

_"When faced with difficulty, I… _pretend_ to think. But I don't think enough. I always think of how to use violence, I never consider that peace is an option… or that if violence must exist, I deserve it more than any other."_

_"I've killed beings no worse than I and fooled myself into looking upon myself as a… as a hero, a warrior, a Shujaa, a vigilante. But I've never done an act of true generosity, an act that cannot benefit me. I've only ever worked for myself."_

_"I've taken… life, dignity, peace, prosperity, sanctity, love, happiness, morality, and a thousand other things that I can neither understand… nor ever possess."_

_"I've given…"_

He thought for a moment. He honestly did; putting his brain's considerable capabilities to searching his past for any single instance of generosity, of kindness.

"Nothing."

_"Nothing…"_

_"Then… I think I understand what's happening. I'm… like a piece of rancid meat that you eat because you're too optimistic. I've… been… …_vomited_… by the Land of the Spirits."_

_"I've been cast out, abandoned, thrown up… it doesn't matter what's happened to me, technically. Because…"_

_"…There is no sin that I have not committed. I've killed, I've stolen, I've hated and, in spiteful defiance, I've evaded every noble act designed to purge my stain from a Land that, before, was untainted."_

_"Even death is too good for me. Even the chance to prepare myself for the eternal suffering that is my fate in Hell is too good for me."_

"So," he said out loud, in a dry voice that hurt his throat, "what is my purpose? Why am I here, what—"

Freak froze, and turned suddenly, without thinking. He'd been yanked thousands of miles from his homeland, across a sea—but already, the survival instincts that had been beaten into him from his first day alive were starting to return.

But there was something else… it wasn't something he'd learned. It was a sort of fear that seemed to seep from his bones, an old fear; a fear written into his blood by generations that were born and died before him. It was a fear that made adrenaline flow through his body, preparing him to fight or run.

On a vague, academic level, Freak knew that it was madness. All the strange plants around him and the new, dangerous insects that he had no immunity to; those were surely bigger threats to him than this… this…

He couldn't describe it. It… stood on two legs, like monkeys sometimes did. It was taller, but didn't seem to be as muscled as a creature that lived its life in the wild. Loose, strangely colored flaps of skin seemed to hang off its body, and in its strangely developed, strong hands, it held an instrument that made the li-tigon's heart stop.

It was in a clearing, in between two trees that had spikes covering their bows and were as foreign as any of the dark, wet plants that surrounded Freak. It wasn't moving, not really; it was just raising that long, thin stick to its shoulder.

The li-tigon felt his heartrate increase, flooding his body with adrenaline. He twitched, his tail lashing around in panic, but he managed not to react—impulsiveness never paid, he had to think…

_"What is it doing…? Everyone is a threat, but… how is this thing threatening me?"_

The two-legged being seemed to mutter something, or speak. Freak flinched, unwillingly digging his hind paws into the ground.

And then, the strange being's finger began to move. The li-tigon couldn't ignore his instincts any more, and he sprang to the side, diving.

There was a terrible noise. It was like the war cry of the Pride Landers; when they all roared together as one. But it was louder and shorter, almost like a hyena's bark. All Freak knew was that it made his ears flatten, even as he continued to fly through the air.

Still diving, he turned, and his eyes widened. From the being's stick-like instrument, long, wide tongues of flame seemed to reach towards him, along with a pebble that raced towards him too quickly to be dodged.

The li-tigon managed to turn, so that the rock—smooth and conical, unnaturally so—cut through part of his mane, shaving off a thick tuft of black fur.

Then, he hit the ground, skidded, got to his feet, and kept running, circling around the being.

Strange leaves and vines whapped against Freak's face and shoulders as he moved. Some cut into him, leaving long, bloody traces across his snout, but the panicked li-tigon preferred such superficial cuts to the bite of… whatever that pebble was.

Freak jumped over a fallen log, and managed to throw his legs upwards to avoid the strike of a snake that bit at him for, seemingly, no reason at all. This threw him off balance and he hit the trunk of one of those spiked trees… with his head.

The li-tigon saw stars, and tried to get up—he failed. But he did manage to open his eyes, and watch, as that strange, monkey-like being approached.

Cutting through the thick foliage with a long, shiny slab of… no, it wasn't rock, it was more… refined, more artificial… it stopped to stand, five feet from Freak.

"No…" the li-tigon groaned, though he couldn't move much, aside from bringing his paws up in a weak attempt to tell the attacker to go away, "don't…"

But the being didn't stop. It merely raised that long, strange instrument again. A series of clacks was heard, and the li-tigon closed his eyes, for a moment.

His paws fell to the ground, as he submitted, waiting to taste death—he didn't know why, but he was _certain_ that his creature would bring death to him.

Freak's eyes were gray—a slate, dark shade of gray that mimicked the harsh obsidian of the volcanoes to the east and west of the Jungle that had been his home for most of his life. They could be called emotionless, and, even lifeless.

But that was in normal times, under normal circumstances… in a normal land. So, now, as none of the above applied, it wasn't so surprising that when Freak opened his eyes, they seemed to churn with harsh, purposeful energy.

_"No. No. No. I have to live. I'm not going to die, not now; not by the hand of this pathetic _human_. Never. Not now, not today. I'm not going to die, I'm not going to die, I'm NOT GOING TO DIE!"_

With a roar that was even more different from the powerful, majestic calls Simba and Kovu could produce than it usually was, Freak moved. He dived, keeping his head and body down, flying low over the ground for just a few feet.

A wave of heat and pressure blasted over him as the being's instrument shot another "pebble" at him, but Freak ignored it. The weapon's report hit the ground harmlessly behind him, coming to rest several feet underground.

The li-tigon still had incredible horizontal speed. He was starting to fall, though, and his dive hadn't put him high off the ground to begin with. That helped, though, because his forepaws hit the ground, then his hind paws, allowing him to jump upwards, maintaining his significant horizontal inertia.

Freak's dive hadn't been perfect; he couldn't tackle his assailant to the ground, pin him, and perform the killing bite casually, daintily, as, subconsciously, he'd planned. He was too far to the side, and, for a moment, it seemed like he might sail right past his target.

But the li-tigon improvised; he could, because he didn't just have the collective wisdom, knowledge, and experience of his grandfather's species, of his grandfather—he had a crucible-like lifetime of pain, suffering, and, essentially, testing. He was smart and he was quick and he was strong and he was brutal, but if his entire life didn't prepare him to end that being right _then_, it would use its killing stick to finish him. So, just then, it was literally Freak's life… or his attacker's.

But, of course, the li-tigon didn't think about things at such a deep level. Not just then, anyway. The process that his mind underwent was a regression to basic, animal instinct—instinct that had protected him from his own mother within mere moments of his birth, instinct that had allowed him to fight vultures, snakes, hyenas, and even fellow big cats… and _win_.

He extended a powerful, muscled foreleg, wrapping it under one of the two-legged being's upper limbs. As Freak continued forwards, he pulled his foreleg in, tightly. The combination of inertial energy and the li-tigon's muscle pulled his attacker off his feet easily, pinning him to Freak's chest.

_Then_, the li-tigon hit the ground.

There was no time for Freak's attacker to struggle, or fight back, or beg. Because, as Freak realized several seconds into the process, he was using his thick, sharp teeth to make hamburger meat out of the being's neck and collarbone.

The li-tigon's eyes widened and he dropped his attacker. Hopelessly, he tapped at the two-legged being's limp form with a paw, as if urging it to get up, to breathe, to live again. But there was no response.

"No, I didn't mean to…"

_"…_kill_ him…"_

_"But then… what did I mean to do?"_ Freak thought hopelessly, as blood—a lot of it—poured from the enemy's body.

With its eyes and mouth open—the latter of which was spilling blood, too—the strange being lay there. Its limbs were boney and there wasn't much meat—_flesh_—on them, and those strange flaps of skin seemed to sag, as if life had left them, too.

The li-tigon's moth watered. Saliva lubricated his teeth, his tongue, whetting his appetite. He hadn't eaten properly, since… the last time he'd been in the Jungle, come to think of it. Since then, it was jus t warrior's meals—brief, simple meals that he'd only taken because he had concerns more pressing than survival. His stomach hadn't properly been filled for some weeks now.

He'd taken a step towards his fallen meal—_attacker_—but then, he stopped himself. Freak's claws extended into the weird, loose soil of this new land, as if to hold him back from his primitive, animalistic instincts… but mental power, or weakness, was stronger than vague, spiritual desire.

_"I'm… I've done wrong, but… there's nothing I can do to help him now. Killing for food… it's as much of a sin as anything else. And for me, killing in self-defense is as corrupt as killing for food, but…"_ the li-tigon's stomach growled, and, for a moment, he dared think that his luck wasn't that bad, not _that_ bad.

_"But… he's already dead. I've sinned, I shouldn't have done it… but I can't change what I did. I have to move forward…"_ Freak took another step forward, and lowered his head… Gods, was that smell, that odor of fresh meat and blood _intoxicating_…

_"And… to move two steps forward… sometimes you have to move one step back, first."_

"…How terrible I am," the li-tigon said out loud, blankly, "I'm trying to use logic, reason, to justify this… when it's that same logic and reason that tells me everything I do, everything I _am_ is wrong… and that nothing I can do or ever will do is positive. I'm a sinner…"

Freak rasped, then spat. Thick blood sprayed across the ground, and Freak clenched his teeth, shutting his eyes, pulling his lips back into an outraged, not-quite-sane snarl.

_"Another growth spurt…"_

_"It couldn't have come at a worse time."_

_"…There's no mercy for a Freak, I suppose. Not that such an abomination deserves a semblance of mercy…"_

He refused to let himself taste or feel the fresh, warm meat in his teeth or throat. He refused to think as his scratchy tongue rasped over bones both broken and intact, and he refused to acknowledge that even though he ate every bit of flesh that he could digest, both safely and otherwise… his hunger was not sated.

Blood dripped from his snout. His fur was, in many places, reddened with ichor, staining it a bizarre, devilish shade of maroon. But he didn't lick himself clean with feline obsession, as he normally did. The blood on his muzzle was as much of a taint on his body as untold thousands of sins were on his soul.

Freak looked away, and then slowly reached out. He placed his paw on the being's forehead, then pulled down, a little, shutting its eyes.

_"I even allowed hunger to make me forget my moral responsibility to peacefully send other beings to the next world… even though I have no right to put them on such a journey in the first place."_

Suddenly, the li-tigon's eyes widened, and he heaved, panting. With a groan, he managed to raise his head, his scarred eye remaining mostly shut. His muscles rippled under his tanned fur, and he awkwardly began to move away, half-limping, half-walking.

His jungle home could be likened, in some ways, to a rainforest. It didn't really have season; it was wet and lush year-round. Its trees weren't particularly tall, though; they tended to be from twenty to thirty feet tall at most, though there were a few fifty-foot outliers here and there. The trees of the Jungle tended to be wide and stout, with limbs branching off to reach to the sky without order. There were plains, here and there, but they tended to be relatively small and insignificant.

This, land, though… it was different. As Freak moved away—where to, he didn't know—he felt the soil under his paws. It was loose, not like the thick, volcanic mud of his home. It wasn't sandy, but a layer of gravel and sediment formed the topsoil, rendering it difficult to suddenly accelerate, decelerate, or change direction. The plants… they smelled strange—unfamiliar. But, for some reason, as the li-tigon walked along, he felt a vague sense of déjà vu.

He couldn't understand for the life of him why he knew not to sniff too closely at a large, pearly-white flower. He didn't know why he knew better than to linger around a strange, sandy structure the size of a hippo at the edge of a large expanse of grassland, and he was at a loss to realize why he knew to stay away from a smattering of fallen leaves…

_"This isn't natural…"_ the li-tigon thought, as after several seconds his powerful eyes picked up the body of a small but vicious-looking snake among the decaying foliage, _"I… it feels like this place isn't new, isn't strange. This place… it feels like it's as much of a home to me as the Jungle. Like this is my…"_

_"…ancestral home…?"_

"That's impossible," Freak murmured to himself, as his slate-colored eyes flickered to a flattened patch of earth, where he _knew_ an animal not all that dissimilar from the gazelles he'd hunted for the majority of his life had lay perhaps an hour ago, "…Grandmother said that Grandfather was a tiger; that tigers come from a different land—"

The li-tigon's eyes widened, and as he looked to the sky, sensing its readiness to spill down gallon after gallon of water on him, continued to ponder—he had to do something to keep his mid from falling into depression.

_"And that they're solitary animals, and that if their cubhoods don't provide them with enough affection and intimacy to live out the rest of their lives… they're in pain, unless they find others who accept them…"_

A deep, growling rumble of thunder echoed through the skies, but Freak didn't jump. He'd felt it coming. Insects—smaller than those of the Jungle and less vibrantly colored, but more wary and cautious—began to traverse up and down trees, hiding in unseen holes and burrows.

Freak looked down, and took _great_ care to avoid treading upon a practical river of black ants—the little beings were the sanitation workers of this place; and they did the world more good than he did.

_"I know I'm only a quarter tiger. But—wait. Wait. My father, Scar… I couldn't find out much from Simba about him; Mufasa was biased against his own brother. But…"_

* * *

The lionesses were exhausted. Exhausted and panting, their paws dirty from a day of hard hunting. But they were returning northward to Pride Rock without Kovu, Simba, and Freak, and there wasn't a drop of blood on their tawny frames.

"Ladies," Sarabi said gruffly, turning to face her sisters and daughters from over her shoulder," hold your heads high. We weren't successful… that can't be denied," she said, before shrugging, and stopping to address the huntresses, "but what are we, if not imperfect? There's nothing more positive we can do to ourselves than holding ourselves to the _highest_ of standards…"

"And yet," the oldest lioness said, cocking her head at the other females rhetorically, "what use is there in feeling upset for being as the Spirits have created us—imperfect? After all, we're just lionesses, right?" Sarabi said, smiling suddenly to cheer her comrades up.

It worked, a little. Tired, somewhat strained smiles were flashed back at the ex-matriarch. Kiara's tail lashed around for a moment, before she spoke.

"Everything you said is true, Grandma…" she said, a sardonic expression on her soft, young features, "…but I'm still hungry."

Sarabi was on a roll. But with a short and, annoyingly, very valid point, her granddaughter had thrown her off course.

The old lioness's lips twitched.

"That's understandable," said a still unfamiliar voice from the west, "so… why don't you share this meal with me?"

A dozen or so pairs of eyes were on the li-tigon as he pulled something in his jaws up and over a slight hill, laying it to rest under the shade of a short, leafy tree.

"…I've found that the best hippos aren't the young or the small. The sweetest, most succulent meat comes from the biggest, most muscular ones. But I always feel bad for killing them," Freak said emotionlessly, sitting upright and cleaning a bloodied paw with his tongue, "because I can't finish them. It used to be a waste," he said, before fixing his blank gaze upon the lionesses, "…but now, that's not the case."

There was silence for a moment. It was understandable—Pride Land lionesses, even the ex-Outlanders, were creatures of honor and pride. They did not speak out of turn, and, to them, to accept food from a male who _they _were supposed to feed was a rather humbling act.

After a pause, though, in which the tired lionesses stared at the still warm prey, freshly taken from a nearby oasis, Sarabi laughed loudly.

"Go ahead…" she said, whatever other words she might have intended to speak being drowned up by the sudden, intense, but short-lived stamped.

Sarabi ducked and held still as the other huntresses dodged all around her, one or two even leaping cleanly over her as they assaulted the hippo. Freak still sat, though, several feet away, unresponsive to the heartfelt words of gratitude directed at him. And so, put off by the li-tigon's moroseness, the various phrases of thanks diminished… then ceased.

Freak looked up, blinked, then cocked his head at Sarabi. A sudden zephyr made his fur shift, baring several stripes as the grass, the trees, the land itself made a soft rustling sound. The old matriarch's yellow and red eyes were distant, until they changed, flickering towards, and then settling upon, her nephew.

"…I know that you like to hunt for us…" Freak said after a moment.

His voice didn't change, but his ears pulled back, just a few centimeters.

"So… if I've offended you by getting this hippo, I apologize. But… I heard the herds move, earlier this morning. I knew it would be difficult for you, so, I changed my patrol route…" the li-tigon said, looking at the feasting lionesses, emotion flashing across his face for a moment, "…it wasn't a big deal, for me. But if it upsets you so…"

Sarabi, however, was chuckling and shaking her head. A nostalgic smile light up her features, and she took a few steps towards Freak before slumping over, willfully ignoring the way he tensed up at her proximity.

"No, no… That's not it at all. I was just thinking…"

"…Would you like to hear a story?" the old lioness said, rasping her tongue over a claw, as Sarafina ran off to tell Simba and Kovu about the kill.

"…Why not?" the li-tigon shrugged, reluctantly lowering himself to sit in such a way that, if need be, he could get up and run or fight for his life with just a second's notice.

"Mufasa, Sarafina, Scar and I… we were all cubs then," she said, feeling Freak's interest rise instantly, along with his ears, at the mention of his father, "it was just a few days before when we were to go through our rites of passage. Mufasa, of course, was lifting rocks, and striking trees into toothpicks with those powerful, masculine paws…" the female sighed, in a moment of remembrance for her late mate, "but Scar went with us, Sarafina and I, to watch over us as we hunted. We were still cubs, technically, and we were going some distance from Pride Rock and the protection of our parents. But, of course, the minute we broke off to hunt… he lay down and took a cat-nap."

"For six hours, Sarafina and I hunted. We tried, at first, to go it alone, but after four hours of that, we gave up, and tried together."

"…Our luck didn't change."

"We went back to where we'd dropped Scar off… but we couldn't find him. We tried to track him, a little, but we were so tired that we just fell over right there."

"And then," Sarabi smiled fondly, "we heard him talk. Ah, Freak… if only you could hear him. His voice… it's very different from yours," the lioness said, referring to the li-tigon's flat, husky tone, "it's… soft, it's purring, it's so sensu—that is, hissing… slithering that it makes the fur on the back of your neck stand on end."

"Anyway, he spoke to us… what was it that he said?… Ah—yes, he said, 'My eyes are playing tricks on me. Sarafina? _Sarabi_?… and you always berate me for being lazy. Now, you're the lazy… lounging… lionesses. Returned from a failed hunt?' he said, 'that's a pity. But every action is both good and bad. For instance, you're exhausted, depressed, hungry, and questioning your abilities to pass the forthcoming tests –and righteously so.'"

"We rolled over—and Freak, I promise you, that if looks could kill, you'd never have been born—but he kept talking."

"'But now… I get to share a private meal that I—me, Scar—caught, alone… with the two most beautiful lionesses that I've ever known… '"

"Sarafina and I turned our heads," Sarabi said, smiling again, "and there, just behind Scar was a nice, plump zebra. He took it himself," the lioness grinned, "for us. For a few minutes, Sarafina and I huffed, and turned our noses up, though the way our mouths were salivating must have created puddles of drool on the ground next to us."

"'And you call yourself a lion,' we said… along with other, less repeatable things," Sarabi admitted, her ears flattening for a moment.

"But he just laughed," the matriarch smiled fondly, "and said, 'If a lion is a creature that ignores the hunger of his friends out of pride,'—he spat when he said that word—'then I'm not a lion. I'm something else.'"

"So…" Freak said, after a moment, pulling Sarabi back to the present, "he wasn't a lion, but, instead, a being that cast aside personal pride for the well-being of his fr—his friends."

The old matriarch nodded, and her smile widened as the li-tigon looked to the lionesses for a long moment. His face wasn't expressionless, but was as unreadable as the blank mask he normally wore.

"Then… me, and Father… …what's the saying…"

* * *

_"Like father, like son."_

Freak walked on, but his footsteps were less heavy, less hopeless. He daren't let himself feel too much, however, for fear of allowing the insanity of the situation get to him.

_"Grandfather, Grandmother, Father, Mother… you're all beings that were self-reliant. You… made me. If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have survived my cubhood to live the life that Grandmother, and Father's parents did."_

"I want to survive this," Freak said quietly, "I need to survive this. This land… it feels hopeless, to me. I don't want this place to be my grave."

It was true. In the Pride Lands, vague and comforting compassion seemed to emanate from every rock, every stone, every blade of grass. Ancestors that had lived and died in the Pride Lands had become, as Mufasa once taught his son, part of the land, physically. But it was as if their protective, loving souls left traces of themselves behind, too.

This land, though…

Trees seemed to press in on Freak. Every hole, every shadowed part of this forest was ominous… _threatening_…

_"Everyone is a threat,"_ the li-tigon thought to himself as, instinctively, he got down next to a tree that was made up of not one but several trunks that twisted together, like rope, to break apart again into branches.

Without even having to think about it, Freak became one with the environment. It was uncanny how he knew _exactly_ what adjustments to make to his movements, his position, to drift from the physical realm and step back, to watch the world's goings-on.

Because the goings-on of this world…

_"Even the most grotesque rituals of the Bloody Shadows can't compare to this."_

They were nearly perfect communists. Their leaders were little more than figureheads that motivated their ranks with fiery, disturbing rhetoric. They had little sense of self left; and they were willing to give up their lives without thought, if it was beneficial to their clan at large.

Freak knew this on a subconscious level. For generations, his tigerish ancestors had had to live with this threat, so basic information on its nature was hard-wired into even Freak. But it would take his mind some minutes of horrified watching to really comprehend how the mongoose clans operated.

Some were carrying prey in their mouths. Others were carrying children. They all, however, were crazily prancing about the trees and ground, racing; weaving in and out of complicated patterns that not _once_ resulted in collision.

So fluid was their motion, their collective will, that Freak couldn't see who was talking. And, he mused, it didn't matter "who" was talking. The will of the clan was being spoken by a mongoose that was a mere voice of true power.

"Brothers!"

A low, sharp roar replied.

"Sisters!"

A higher, acrid snarl replied.

Then, all at once, everything stopped. Miniscule chests rose and fell, rose and fell. Every mongoose stood at attention, so that the neat rows of _hundreds_ of the vicious creatures lined the forest floor.

Freak's ear twitched as he watched, flicking away a sepia-colored moth. Even the touch-me-not that he'd accidentally disturbed was starting to unfold his leaves, such was the li-tigon's descent—or, depending on whom you ask, ascent—into nature.

Several mongooses patrolled the ranks, appropriating food and cubs alike. The food—snakes, mostly, but spiders, scorpions, and even several birds—was piled up to the side of the formation. There was enough meat there to feed the army, literally, but aside from the mongooses designated to collect it, not an eye fluttered at it.

"As you know, food is scarce and times are harsh. It's almost the Season of the Rains. It's not a prosperous time," said a being that was _identical_ to every other mongoose in the clan, "we all have to give up some things, for the benefit of the group…"

There was a murmur of general assent. One of the cubs—they'd been dumped, really, in a sort of rectangle to the rear of the clan—started to cry for its mother, but a blow dealt by the lightning paw of one of the clan silenced it.

"It's not a time in which adding to the family is beneficial. The pale men that enter the villages have left. They won't use us as guides, as warning systems, not for some time yet. So… we'll do as we've done for a thousand generations before!" he called, "and as we will do for a thousand generations yet…"

"And, after this Season… I promise you, our efforts to hunt down and exterminate the Dark One will not fail."

A soft hissing slithered through the group, as Freak's brow furrowed. The Dark One…?

"We will stay to the trees. We will find homes as close to the humans as possible. We will, as a group, live, and we will accept that not all of us will survive the Season of the Rains—this is life."

"Our patrols, that keep our humans safe from the claws of the enemy cats," Freak's eyes widened, "will not decrease; as our will to serve the clan. We will turn away travelers from other clans with a gentle, but firm hand—good guests do not come to call when their hosts are needy."

"We will eat when we can, we will starve when we can't. We will protect our humans with every drop of blood, of strength, that we have in us. Some of us will perish."

"But I ask you," the mongoose thundered, "WILL THE BANGHAR CLAN DIE OUT?"

"NO!"

The roar was fierce and _angry_ and made the li-tigon shiver… as he clenched his teeth, biting back a groan.

_"No… please… Spirits… not now…"_

_"They'll eat me _alive_…"_

"WILL IT?"

"NO!"

Freak's claws extended, digging into the ground. He did everything he possibly could to remain still and silent; he closed his eyes tightly, he flattened his ears, he pressed his tongue to the fleshy roof of his maw, hard… but it was of no use.

_"Shit…"_

Pain was not a new experience for Freak. In fact, it could be called one of the very few constants in a life that had taken him from the Jungle, to the Pride Lands, to the Bloody Shadows, to the Desert and beyond. For the li-tigon, pain was like powerful vodka—to be sipped briefly and quickly and felt but not reacted to.

Usually.

Because if the pain of a cut, bite, or fall was like drinking vodka, this stretching, aching, pain from his growing bones was like being forced to swallow acid.

Burying his face in his paws and even shoving his muzzle several inches into the loose, giving dirt of this new land did no good. The speaking mongoose was cut off as a terrible, heart wrenching yell rippled through the forest, making what insects remained active despite the congregation of the Banghar Clan scurry away.

Slowly, Freak looked up. He rose from behind the thick, myrtle bush that had, until then, concealed, him, and faced the mongooses.

The mongooses faced back.

"The cubs and food can wait," one of them murmured, "we're a race that knows its priorities. We know what we have to do when we see a li—…a… ti…? …a cat. We know what we have to do, brothers. We know what we have to do, sisters…"

Freak's heart began to race, but he didn't move. He didn't allow himself to feel fear, either; not now. For now, he had to control his energy, bite it back, so that when it was time to act, he would do so with the utmost of alacrity and the least of reluctance. The cold prick of adrenaline signaled that it was just about getting time to run, as the mongooses slowly fanned out.

Their tactics meant that any fight with them would not be two-dimensional. Long had Freak used his tigerish ability to use the trees as well as the ground as a launching point for a pounce or tackle to catch enemies off guard, but the way these small, stout creatures easily walked up the trees, setting up a massive attack said that any escape the li-tigon might try to make would be contested.

Every one of Freak's formidable senses were on high alert. His nose twitched, several times, and his ears angled behind him to search for a safe escape route; one, preferably, that wouldn't take him from the frying pan into the fire.

_"A group of water-buffalo to my five… a concentration of ant colonies to my six… …nothing…?… to my seven…"_

The water_-_buffalo would offer no obstacle to the mongooses. The ant colonies, though…

_"If I break their nests…"_ Freak thought, as he adjusted the position of his paws, slightly, coiling his muscles, _"they might take some mongooses out of the picture for me."_

"We know what we have to do, brothers and sisters. We know the sacrifices that we'll feel, and we know that we're willing to taste them. We're strong, we're determined, and, above all, we are righteous."

The brief silence was deafening.

"So…"

"ATTACK!"

The roar was primal, but the meaning behind it was what really made it terrifying. Freak was a being that had faced seemingly insurmountable odds before, a thousand times, and it made even his insides twist in a freezing, iron grasp.

Time seemed to slow down, again, allowing Freak to react. His eyes shot around. Mongooses were jumping, racing towards him from his ten to two o'clock position. The first wave's short but viciously sharp claws sliced through foliage, clearing the path for the legions of back-up behind it. The second layer of mongooses spilled to the side to try to flank Freak, and the third and fourth waves prepared to charge as well.

By the time Freak had digested all of this information, he had moved. The looseness of the soil made it hard to take off from a cold start; but, for some reason, the li-tigon knew better than to run at his best speed from the beginning—he allowed his speed to change in a sustainable pattern, so that a sudden impulse of acceleration wouldn't make him slip, fall, and be torn apart.

Freak's body twisted as he turned. He extended his back claws just a little, so that his back half could move but would not fall and skid. He extended all of his front digits, giving himself as much grip as possible. Moving paw over paw, the li-tigon was able to turn away and start running as quickly as possible.

Time sped back up.

Blood-curdling screams frenzied Freak's pace. Though he no longer felt the white-hot jabs of pain racing up and down every bone of his body, he knew they were still there; he was just too occupied to register them.

Though Freak had just eaten, he wasn't in his best shape for several reasons. One was that he'd just made a death-defying spring… it seemed like so much longer than a few hours ago. Another was that this new land, its humidity, its strange noises, its air… all of it sapped at Freak's strength and wit.

Another was, of course, the fact that he was undergoing a _huge_ growth spurt.

But despite the odd twitches his muscles sometimes gave, despite the dull ache that penetrated even the blinds he'd used to focus his mind, he was only slowly losing ground to the mongooses.

But he could not keep it up.

The li-tigon sprang off of trees, slid through tightly-packed clumps of forest, and smashed through bushes. He tried every bizarre zigzag, every feint, everything; but the mongoose clan had so many members that no matter what, he couldn't shake them.

And so, instead of trying to shake them as he normally might, Freak lowered himself to the ground and forced himself to run faster. His legs stretched out their fullest, moving in a wide arc of motion as he sprinted even faster. His efforts to decrease air resistance and squeeze that little bit of extra speed out of his body worked, and the li-tigon peered ahead, far ahead, preparing the only trick he had up his sleeve.

But the forest seemed to rebel against him. He'd been running for about a minute, now, and now that this land had realized that he, a li—…a… ti…? …a cat, was evading justice at the claws of the Banghar Clan, it was reacting.

Small animals in the trees pushed vines down to try to net, or hang Freak. The li-tigon had to use his claws to slash through those tough, knotted ropes several times, and to avoid a small swarm of dangerous, stinging, flying insects, he had to take to the trees.

But, abruptly, the forest broke into a plain, and he had to come down. Freak bounded, now, instead of sprinting, to avoid hasty bites directed at him by snakes and scorpions alike. The grass here was dense and green and hurt to move through, not like the tan, soft blades of the Pride Lands, but Freak had no choice.

The forest sprang up, again, but as Freak reentered it, a particularly powerful wave of pain made him grunt and slip, slightly. He skidded, but recovered, and moved on. There was no time to think or react properly; all Freak could do was use his paw to half-cut, half-pull the snake that had locked its teeth into him, and pray to whoever might be listening to him that it had only gotten a mouthful of mane.

Impressively, despite all of his troubles, Freak's form had scarcely deteriorated. So, a close-view from the li-tigon's side would show his exotic muzzle; the occasional stripe flickering in and out of view; his lips, held in pain, over the massive daggers that were his teeth, and his purplish nose, twitching.

_"Just a little further…"_

Up in front of the li-tigon, the forest broke, again. There was no grass, no trees, and only one kind of insect up ahead. The ant colonies…

Muscles screaming in protest, Freak continued to run. This trap… it might work. It really might. A deliberate attack against a nest would provoke an immediate, _intense_ response. And the mongooses would reach anything stationary that Freak did after a few seconds…

It might work. It might. Hopefully… because if it wasn't at least 90% effective at throwing the mongooses off, Freak would be run to exhaustion, then killed. They'd track him down, he knew, and despite the instincts that had, thus far, kept him alive in this land, they'd kill him.

The colonies were only feet away, now… and, thank the Spirits, they were active. Freak could see the miniscule creatures crawling around, making a few last-minute preparations for the Season of the Rains. They'd not only cleared out a good patch of the terrain—a rough ten meter by ten meter square that gave them visibility, organization, enhanced defensive capabilities, and respect. There will little holes all over that patch of earth—they were plugged up, now, but could be cleared in a heartbeat so that ants could pour out and flood the entire area in seconds.

Not only that, they'd set up drains to divert water away from their home. They'd set up small barriers, here and there, to slow the imminent flood-waters of the Season of the Rains.

_"Why am I thinking about this, when the Banghar Clan is hot on my tail?"_

Freak jumped forward, clearing a patch of mud. The mongooses were closing in.

Now, the li-tigon was just twenty or so feet away. A fallen log barred him from the ant colonies, so he hopped, once, so that his muscles rippled under his flesh, storing energy.

Then, he jumped high, and far. Freak turned his head to the side, then gave it a toss to throw off a vine. His eyes opened, and his paws, folded, began to move outwards to form a sort of V. Like this, he'd be able to knock off at least the top of any of the twenty or so nests in front of him and get out before he as well as the mongooses was consumed by the reactionary swarm.

Still in mid-air, Freak looked down. A small torrent of ants was carrying a few final provisions into a hole, preparing the colony for the harsh season ahead.

The li-tigon's eyes widened, and his jaws fell open, slightly. What had he been planning…?

_"I can't do this, it's their home! I can't attack them and take advantage of them to rid myself of something that's solely _my_ problem. It's inconceivable—no!"_

His paws were already flying through the air. He'd used them, before, to knock heads off of enemies, and even to shatter solid walls of rock. And Freak's kinetic energy was great—if he struck, the rapidly approaching nest in front of him would be smashed to rubble, killing untold thousands of its inhabitants…

The li-tigon managed to adjust his forelegs. His right limb arced over the nest, the energy of the strike turning him to his side. Then, with his left limb, he pushed, so that his body glanced off of the nest, leaving no appreciable damage.

The ants were upset, though, and just as Freak hit the ground, then sprang off back into the forest, to the left, they began to pour out of the ground.

Shrieks of pain rang out behind him as a good few dozen of the Banghar Clan were enveloped by the swarming, stinging masses. The rest, though, moved to the side or just ran on, shaking the ants off of their bodies.

Freak was desperate now. His adrenal rush was starting to die down, and fatigue was starting to set in, as well as the pain that hissed from every part of his body, from his tail to his nose.

He had only one option—to the seven o'clock position of where the mongooses had found him, there was… he didn't know what. All he knew was that it was different from the rest of the forest.

And, he prayed, whatever he found there would benefit him, not the snarling, raging predators behind him.

Patches of moss suggested that whatever Freak was approaching was more water-rich, more wet. But the terrain was still as dangerous to him as the Clan behind him. Rocks shifted under his feet, pushed aside, slowing him down. Outraged howls all around him suggested that he'd harassed a band of monkeys.

Thrown stones, fruits, and less sanitary items landed all around Freak. He was gasping for breath, now; every hissing rasp hurt his throat, his lungs. Now and then, an involuntary shudder would rack his body; the growing pains were getting worse.

Suddenly, in front of him, the land seemed to break. Freak didn't have time to stop and think—he was running on empty, now, and was too committed in forward motion to change his direction.

There was a tree, right in front of him, and a gap in its spiked, harsh branches formed a net that would block any mongooses that didn't move _perfectly_ behind him. But the gap was small, and blurred, black and white patches were starting to cloud his vision. He had no choice.

And so, for the last time that day, Freak jumped. His form was neither sleek nor graceful, this time; it was desperate. The way one leg seemed to trail the other, the way his paws didn't fold up to minimize air resistance as they normally did… it wasn't so much that Freak leaped into the air—he threw himself forward into the hands of fate.

A dark gray, howling form swung from the trees in front of him, striking forward with gnarled, twisted feet. It was a monkey, and the slight fluctuation in Freak's path that its assault might cause could make him smash his head into the tree.

Its face twisted in rage, and then sudden agony as Freak swatted it aside. It hit the ground, hard, breaking its back on impact, then its neck due to whiplash.

But its mission had been successful.

The sudden blow had thrown Freak off-course. He wasn't flying sideways, not really, but his body wasn't perfectly aligned to thread the needle, as it needed to be.

As a last, doomed attempt at damage control, Freak tried to curl up into a rough fetal position, to at least minimize his injuries. But it was no good—he had no time.

The li-tigon's snout cracked against the tree, so hard that a spiked branch broke off, but remained _embedded_ in his face. His flank smashed against another branch, very nearly dislocating a leg. Freak felt cartilage shift, ripple, and tear, and knew that he'd be limping for at least a day… provided that he lived for another day.

In a way, it was good that Freak's jump wasn't perfect. His collision killed a lot of his kinetic energy, so instead of flying outwards, over the practical cliff whose floor was _hundreds of yards below_, he sort of flopped forward a few yards… before falling.

A few mongooses followed him, but not many. Those that did were torn apart by the rugged cacti and thistle that scratched life from the sharp layers of basalt and granite that formed the cliff's steep slope.

As the rock surface rose up to meet him, Freak gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, exhaling.

_"I hope that, at least, the Clan will leave me for dead…"_

The first collision was bone-jarring. Freak's balled form opened up, as every cubic millimeter of air was forced from his lungs. He bounced, a little, but the subsequent hits were no less perilous.

By now, of course, the li-tigon was unconscious. He hit a few stout cacti, blasting them into separate, bleeding chunks. Their spines dug into his flesh, _deep_, tearing dozens of miniscule holes into his protective skin, through which any number of terrible diseases could enter.

Dust and debris was blasted from the cliff's face as Freak continued to fall. His limp form was shown no mercy—if there was a vague forth in his downward motion, every time, the li-tigon went down the path that led to a farther drop, or a thicket of cacti, or a particularly jagged group of rocks.

Finally, though, the fall ended—in a fashion. There were no more rocks or cacti…

There was open air.

Freak's eyes—their shade mimicking the dull gray of the cliff almost perfectly—opened. He seemed to cling to the lip of the cliff, for a moment. His forearms, once sleek, powerful, and even protective, were now battered, bruised, cut, and weak. The lower portion of his body dangled, for a moment…

Then he fell…

The canopy of the forest was another hundred feet down. Freak had survived falls of thirty and even forty feet, before, but those had all been when he was completely conscious and able to roll, or do _something_ to decrease the felt impact.

Now, though, he was half-dead, half-conscious, tired, and still shuddering from the pangs of rapid growth. He had no chance…

He slipped a little, at first, and then his grip failed entirely. Wind ruffled his mane, whistling in his ear, slightly, as he fell.

But Freak's eyes closed, and he wrapped his forelegs around himself in a sort of hug. He might not be going to the same place all of the beings he'd known and cared about were, and he might not ever see a friendly face ever again in his existence…

But at least now, he was sure of his fate.

And so, as his muscled, weathered body met the first arrowhead leaves of the forest below, Freak smiled.

He was at peace.

* * *

(I hope that you're all at the edge of your seats. I haven't dared to do a cliffhanger ending for the past few months, because I haven't been able to guarantee a speedy follow-up. Now, though, that's no longer the case. Look forward to chapter sixteen in a few weeks, at most, because it took me just about ten days to write this. As always, five reviews are required to continue, but this time around, I'd like you to tell me one thing you want me to do more of, and one thing you think I can do better at. Oh yeah—a big shout-out to Kovukono. He read over and edited this chapter something like four times. …Well, that's all for now, so see you next chapter.)


	16. Exile II: New Life

The Lion King: The Freak  
Chapter 16: Exile II: New Life

* * *

(Thoughts in Heaven are _not_ italicized. Sorry for the late update.)

* * *

Cleaning wasn't quite the word to describe what was going. Consecration came a little closer, but was still inadequate.

"Ugh… what are we doin', again, Simba?" Shenzi said as she and the four other adult hyenas returned from the west, "I don't pretend ta get why we just spent five hours buryin' dead branches…"

"We're—" began the Lion King

"—sanctifying… the Pride Lands," Kovu interrupted, as he approached to take his father-in-law's side, "that's it, isn't it? Rafiki… he told me."

The dark lion looked down, a little, in sad remembrance of his teacher… whose fate was still unknown.

Simba was silent for a moment. At the base of Pride Rock, he felt, in many ways, overshadowed. First, physically—the huge, earthen structure was at least fifty feet tall, and _massive_.

But then, there was the spiritual way. Pride Rock had been the home of his fathers since before the time of Mohatu. And though, Simba painfully recalled, there had been not the slightest whisper from the next world for months, now… he could feel his ancestors' strength, their life-force, enter and empower him whenever he was near what was many of their final resting place.

The Pride Landers were hard at work—all of them. The lionesses had split up into groups to maintain the various oases and waterholes of their home. The rest of the Royal Family as well as a few older lionesses and Uvuli, the youngest being in the area, were inside, performing a complex ceremony, a rite-of-passage.

Though, chronologically, the black female was a cub by any standard, she was as big as a nearly-mature juvenile, she was strong, and she'd taken enough prey alone to impress, theoretically, Freak.

So, Sarabi, Nala, and Kiara and a few otherswere talking to her, teaching her everything a good Pride Land lioness—er, honorary lioness… sort of… needed to know. They were teaching her how to be part of a hunting group, how to be a great asset to her family… how to attract a mate…

"Simba…?"

The Lion King gave a questioning grunt, and turned to Banzai, before smiling, apologetically, and speaking.

"Kovu's right… that's just what we're doing. We're sanctifying the Pride Lands. It's a long, and, I'll admit, sometimes boring procedure… but I promise, the results will be worth it," he smiled, "trust me."

"Cha, well, they better be," Shenzi grumbled, "I ain't seen half as much prey in th' past few weeks as there used to be. There's still plenty ta go around," she admitted, shrugging, "but dang… if this keeps up, Simba, we ain't gonna last…"

"I know. I know," the Lion King sighed.

He was silent for another moment. The sky was gray, he noted, and had been for the past few days. The Sun rose and fell, as it always did, but… dawns, dusks, and everything in between weren't… spectacular, inspiring… not anymore. Hs mind drifted back to a conversation he'd once shared with his father, years ago…

"I was such a fool back then," he scoffed, shaking his head.

"What?" sounded six different voices simultaneously.

"…I was a fool," he sighed, "I've been a fool for most of my life, and that only changed when Kovu," he said, nodding his head towards the dark lion, who was giving his father-in-law a look of great concern, "and Kiara got together. Remember? When I allowed you five into the Pride Lands again, after a lifetime of exile…"

"…when we met Shujaa…"

The two lions turned, in unison, and instantly smiled. The smaller beings that were now behind them broke apart and took their sides, smiling similarly.

She hadn't changed, of course, in the sense that she wasn't more muscular, or larger, or anything else. But now, there was a sort of grace, of propriety in her step that said that the cub they'd all grown to love was gone. A woman had replaced her.

Uvuli didn't blush—that wasn't her style. She drew herself up, though, with pride, smiling, and cocked her head a few degrees.

"What? Don't tell me, I have something in my teeth, right? I knew I shoulda listened to you and gnawed a bone, Pop…" the black female said as she circled to the side of the group to raise a foreleg, wrapping it around her father's shoulders, "you always know what's best."

Usiku's eyes were comically widened, in humorously-fake skepticism. He grinned, once, and cuffed his daughter's chin.

"Who are you, and what have you done with my daughter? Cheeky…" he murred, nudging the female's forehead with his nose, "congratulations. You're an adult now… you may be the youngest adult I know."

"I dunno," Uvuli said, as she moved to bow to, then hug each of the other adults in the area, as Sarabi, her daughter, her granddaughter and their peers watched from the tip of Pride Rock, smiling, "the ceremony, yeah, that made me an adult today… but the path to adulthood was longer. It was like the time you brought me from the Bloody Shadows, Pa. It was a long trip, but what was it you said to me when we started?"

"All great journeys are just a collection of individual steps. So… take them one at a time," father and daughter said in unison.

Usiku smiled, a little sadly, and leaned in to whisper, privately, to his sole child.

"Your mother would be so, so proud of you if she were here. In fact—she is proud of you… I know that she's watching you, now, from Heaven. Can you feel her, Uvuli?" he murmured, sliding away.

The dark female raised her head, and looked skyward. With the thrill of foreboding, Simba's eyes widened, and he followed suit. Then, Kovu did too. Then Shenzi, Ed, Banzi, T, and Usiku looked up, too. Then Nala, Sarabi, Kiara; and then, every one of the Pride Lands' sentient beings were looking upwards, trying to pierce the cloud cover for a glimpse of what lay above…

* * *

"_She's not ready for this."_

"_Azizi…"_

"_She's just a cub."_

"_No…" said a soft, purring voice whose implicit malice was now in place out of mere tradition, "she's not. Not anymore. She's a woman."_

"_Technically… but she's so young! Mufasa…" she pleaded, "please. Don't do this to my daughter."_

_The former Lion King sighed. All around him, faces held anxiety, fear, and a lack of security. It wasn't personal—here, in the Heavens, they were safe. But their children… their homelands… their legacies…_

"_Technically…" murmured Mufasa's calming, baritone rumble, "I won't be the one doing it to her. It's the will of the Spirits… and even I am powerless to resist them."_

"_But she's just a child! Please…" the hyena begged, "you can't let them do this…"_

"_But there's no other choice," Chukizo said, sadly, a look of great sympathy on her face._

_When Azizi turned to look at the tigoness, however, her expression was one of suspicion, of mistrust. After all, the other female did have quite a stake in her daughter's fate…_

"_Azizi, please… come with me. I'd like to talk to you, in private… mother to mother. Friends…" she called, looking around at all the other beings in the area, especially her mate, whose head had perked up in concern and the instinct to protect his mate, "please. A few moments…"_

_Scar and Chukizo shared a glance, and that's all it took. The dark lion gave himself a shake, and whistled. Maisha bounded over, from her uncles, and instantly began to roughhouse with her fathre, squealing and giggling in glee. The _two_ male tigons rolled their eyes, and did as their mother's side did best—they lounged around._

_Chukizo jerked her head, and began to move away. Her cuffed, striped tail twitched, a little, and Azizi glared, for a moment, then followed._

"This had better be good. Uvuli's life is at stake here."

* * *

_He was still bigger than her, after all these years. And after all these years, the desire to cower in fear from him was almost overpowering._

_Heaven, contrary to what one might think, was not a monotonous place. Different areas offered different views of the Land of the Spirits… in theory. Because now, it had been weeks since anyone had been able to get a clear view of anything below._

"_I maintain what I said earlier…" Samehe said, not looking to the cat at her side, several feet away, "I looked down, at Shindani… and she looked back."_

"_Please, please, memsahib… it's a coincidence. I will not argue, however," he said politely, in a voice that was deep, powerful, intimidating, and still accented, "I have given you enough trouble already."_

"_So forceful even in the afterlife…" Samehe said, attempting to smile, as she turned to raise a friendly paw to Sikia, who was being shown around by Jinga_ (A/N: that's one of Chukizo's brothers, if you've forgotten)_, "aren't you… Shere Kahn?"_

_The tiger turned to face the lioness, but couldn't hold her gaze for more than a moment. His harsh, masculine features were evident to Samehe for the first time, and the lioness gasped, for a moment, willing herself not to step back. All those years ago, on the Desert's beach… he was scrawny, scraggly, and weak. But now… muscle rippled under an ironclad frame. A powerful chin and three wisps of black fur at the cleft in his chin, as well as above his lips completed the look of a powerful male._

"_Forceful," the tiger whispered, ears flattening, "such a choice of words…"_

_There was a pause, then Shere Kahn turned his head, showing a steely, angled profile to Samehe, ruined by the contours and ripples of remorse and guilt. The lioness gasped, and that was the final nail in the coffin for the tiger._

"_I apologize, memsahib, for the trouble I've given you now… and before. I'll leave you in peace," he said, trying to turn to glance at the female and failing, utterly, "I understand why you wouldn't want to speak to me, very well. I'll go now," he said, bowing, deeply, before moving to leave._

"_Wait…"Samehe said, catching the tiger's paw in hers, "wait…"_

_Shere Kahn held his eyes shut. His jaw muscles rippled under his flesh, as Samehe began to stroke his cheek, his ruff, his neck, and his forelegs._

"_So, so strong…" Samehe murmured, rubbing the male under the chin, "I can see where our grandson gets it from. His stripes… they're yours, you know. It's hard to see them, but I have, a few times… they're just like yours. I know that you've been through a lot in your life, Shere Kahn…"_

"…_so have I…"_

"…_and our grandson still struggles and suffers everyday… I know that that's true, no matter where _he's_ sent him. There are many things I don't know," Samehe sighed, gently caressing the tiger's ruff with a paw, causing him to slowly close his eyes in relaxation, "but what I do know is that there's no use in allowing the past to restrain us. I've forgiven you, Shere Kahn, I did years ago. It's time that you forgave yourself."_

_At that, the male quickly pulled away, so that Samehe faced his back. He spoke in a sharp, excited tone._

"_You know only how easy it is to say that. To do it, memsahib…" he was silent for a moment._

"_You cannot understand. Forgiving others is easy, but forgiving yourself…"_

"_Of course I understand," the lioness said, cocking her head in incredulity, "have I not done a great many wrongs in my life? Have I not killed my own cubs? Have I not attacked downed enemies? Have I not hated and acted on hate? …Have I not forgiven myself?"_

_There was silence. The tiger didn't seem as if he was willing to accept what Samehe had just said; he remained facing away from her._

"_I'm only telling you what you know," the lioness said simply, as she walked up to Shere Kahn's side, "you've watched me—I know it. I've felt it. But you can't forgive yourself… why, Kahn? Why?"_

_There was a pause._

"_Because, memsahib, everything you've done to our children has happened because of a mistake that I made—so, it is my fault, you see. Mine, not y—"_

_The tiger's eyes widened. This feeling… he hadn't felt it for two lifetimes, now. While it was true that Chukizo and Maisha were ever willing to be affectionate with him, there was nothing like the feel of flesh that was aged, worn, but still proud and strong, like his…_

_For a moment, he was unable to do anything but close his eyes, standing still, deep purrs reverberating through that majestic form, as Samehe rubbed the smooth bluntness of her head against his shoulder._

_Then, he turned, slowly, facing the lioness with shiny eyes._

"_Perhaps I cannot forgive myself yet… but under your care, memsahib… I am hopeful."_

_Samehe's smile faltered as she began to walk alongside the tiger._

"_Hope…"_

"Shujaa…"

* * *

"_Well, what is it?" Azizi huffed, "where are you taking me?" she asked suspiciously._

_Chukizo turned, smiled, and walked on._

"_It's not much farther. You'll see when we get there."_

_The female hyena's jaw muscles rippled. Damn, was that sort of logic infuriating._

"I know I'll see when we get there, thank you. I just want to know beforehand; is that really too much to ask?"

_That made her smile, a little, and made her step livelier. The tigoness was leading her to a shallow pool, about two yards wide, that looked like the inside of a mother-of-pearl's shell._

_Azizi twitched._

"_A puddle…"_

"…_Nice."_

"_Heh," Chukizo said, as she guided the hyena to the edge of the pool, "yes. Very nice. A puddle. Yes…"_

_Unlike her father, mother, and mate, the tigoness was not a great orator. She twitched, slightly, before speaking again._

"_It's not just a puddle, though. It's… I can't explain it. It's like a mirror, but it's also like a looking-glass. It's hard to explain," Chukizo sighed, before looking up at Azizi with hard, determined eyes, "but please. Just look into it. Then, you'll understand what I mean."_

_The hyena's lips peeled back, just a hair, but she shrugged, disinterestedly, and, with half-lidded eyes, peered down to placate Chukizo. But a second later, every fiber of her being was captured by what the puddle showed her. The tigoness watched, solemnly, as light emanated from the puddle, enlightening Usiku's mate._

_The hyena saw many things. She saw Freak, first, then, she saw the li-tigon's form slowly but surely blend into many beings. She only recognized a handful of them—Uvuli, Simba, Kovu, Chukizo, Scar, Samehe, Shere Kahn… There were others, too; lions that resembled Simba and might very well be his ascendants, and tigers, too, and one being that made Azizi _shiver_ for the brief second she caught sight of him._

_Slowly, the light diminished, and Azizi looked up at Chukizo._

"_You see? We're all connected. My son needs your daughter, and they need everyone else you saw, too. To keep your daughter from my son…" the tigoness shook her head, "it's more unnatural than to keep a mother from her child… unfortunately."_

"_Don't think I'm unsympathetic," the tigoness said in an attempt to be brisk, though there was a definite quaver in her voice, "I want my son safe, too. Oh, Azizi, I feel your pain, so much. Doing this—sending your daughter to—we don't even know where—I hate it. I honestly do," Chukizo said._

_There was a pause. The two mothers made eye contact, broke it, then made it again. Sad smiles appeared on the two faces—different in cone structure, fur pattern, and general shape—but similar in deeper, more important ways. After all… two eyes, two ears, a nose, a mouth, and sentience—that's all that mattered._

"_So…" Azizi sighed, "I suppose we have no choice."_

_Chukizo shook her head._

"_Then…" the hyena said, as she walked, gently bumping into the tigoness's shoulder with her cheek, "I hope I was wrong."_

"_I hope Uvuli is ready for this… because the alternative…"_

"…_is death…"_

* * *

There was prayer, and plenty of it. Prayer and meditation and cleaning and bathing and fasting. Within days, the Pride Lands were looking better than they ever had for generations, since Mohatu's time.

So much had changed in so little time. It seemed like so longer ago that Simba had to obsessively patrol the Pride Land's southern borders with the Outlands. However, it was immediately after the fall of the Outlands that Freak had entered the Pride Lands, forever altering its history. Since then, there had been more time to partake in the greatest pastime of lions—sleep.

Now, though, there wasn't much time for napping. Patrols had been increased, and though all Pride Land lions and hyenas were under strict orders to give refugees the benefit of the doubt, it had been impressed upon them just how vital it was that now, during sanctification, that the Pride Lands remained untouched by evil.

There were tears and laughter, every day. Lion and hyena alike had to let go of the past—Kovu and Simba had been taught by Rafiki, well. They knew how to enlighten themselves, and, shortly, most others followed suit, confessing to past sins and carefully locking away happy memories so that sanctification could protect the Pride Lands for at least a few months.

There was a slight problem, though. Uvuli…

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't let go of the past, or rather, a part of it. Though time and again Simba, Usiku, Kiara, and T had explained to her that what they were doing would, in the end, help Freak, every time the young hyena tried to let go of him, something inside of her rose up and grabbed onto the few, beautiful memories she had of the li-tigon _hard_, refusing to release it.

More than once Uvuli had stormed from Pride Rock, with angry tears in her eyes. She was trying her best—couldn't they see that? The female hyena knew she needed time alone—so she went to the remote northeast of the Pride Land. For her safety, she was covertly trailed by Sarabi. But her anger—righteous, in the Lion Sheikh's humble opinion—allowed another being to track her as Sarabi tracked her scent.

Uvuli was young and pure and strong and angry. So, depending on your taste… she was perfect prey. But Sarabi—she was a lioness. And not just any lioness, a member of the Royal Family. Though old and crippled, her heart, mind, and spirit were strong.

So, depending on your taste, Uvuli was a Hershey's bar. But Sarabi was a freezer full of sugary, fatty, energy-giving goodness…

And, depending on your taste, to access that energy, that ever-lasting sugar-rush, all you have to do is open the freezer…

* * *

He recalled, vaguely, that he hadn't hit the ground outright. The canopy had slowed his fall, slightly, and then rope after rope of thick vine had wrapped around his body. He'd almost choked and indeed, the lacerations that crisscrossed his frame like stripes were severe.

But he had not died.

He just didn't realize that yet.

"_Hell…"_

The blackness was absolute, complete, dimensionless. He couldn't navigate, he couldn't make sense of the abyss he found himself in, and his senses were useless to rationalize his situation.

So, now, all that was left to do was to contemplate his fate. There were no tongues of white-hot flame to consume his body, yet, but they were coming. He knew they were. All there was to do was wait.

"_I deserve this. I really do…"_ He winced—did he? Could he, with no body? And yet, something told him, his body was intact, and not so different from the body he had known when he'd been alive—_"I've done so much wrong… and so little—no. Nothing right—not once. Never. …Heh…"_ he chuckled sadly, his emotionless face forming a smile, "I thought the deepest, darkest depth of Hell would be more painful…"

Wait. Wait. …Did he say that? Did he speak? Something told him he had, but… nothing was making sense. Pain was coming, but it wasn't unbearable. Sensation was returning to his body—_his_ body? It felt so similar, and yet, so different.

But did he speak? Did he? He didn't hear his words, but he was fairly certain that he'd physically spoken. More sensations were starting to return—too fast. Far too fast.

He tried to open his eyes, a little, and caught a glimpse of a terrible, huge, toothed mouth. The mouth opened, as if to speak, but he knew that they would come down, scissoring him in half… over... and over… and over…

Eternity was a long time.

He smiled, though, and embraced his fate as his arms still did to his—his?—body. Eternal pain was certainly a formidable opponent, but his mind now was as weathered and tough as his—his?—body. He could take it—he knew it. So, it was again with a sense of apathy, of peace, that he again allowed his eyes to fall shut, as he again placed himself in the hands of fate…

* * *

Death?

It was dark, yes. Dark and bleak and seemingly infinite.

But was it death?

He was almost certain that he was not moving. He sometimes tested his muscles—or so he thought—but he could glean no response through touch, smell, sound, or sight.

Taste, though… it came. Occasionally. Well… that's what Freak thought, anyway. A hand by itself cannot clap, and only one sense gives minimal clues as to what was going on.

But, slowly, other senses returned. Touch was first. The li-tigon moved his legs and felt things with his paws. He was fairly sure that he was in water, perhaps a swamp of some sort. He felt thick, muddy water, vines, the bark of gnarled, twisted trees, and sometimes something else, too… something scaled, perhaps, or armored.

Scent returned next, but it was nearly useless. Freak knew only a few scents from this land thanks to his ancestry, and couldn't tell anything that touch hadn't already told him. At least, though, the added level of certainty calmed the li-tigon, a bit.

He was always waning in and out of consciousness. Dreams and reality mixed with one another inexorably without notice, but, to be fair, there was no appreciable difference between the two.

He tried to think, sometimes, but it was of no use. Fatigue took over, sending his mind careening down the dark spiral of depression, and so, quickly, he fell into unconsciousness again.

How long that darkness lasted, he didn't know. It could have been hours, or days, or weeks. All he knew that, at some point or the other, it ended…

* * *

They were all surrounding him. It made sense, they had spent quite a lot of time and effort in his upkeep. They'd fed him, and tended to his wounds, and hidden him from the Banghar Clan. And now, finally, it looked like he was waking up.

He was gaunt, perhaps, but he was young. He'd put some meat on his bones soon, they were sure, and in a healthier state, he would look powerful and noble, as cats were supposed to.

Eagerly, they gathered, and watched. Their blue-green forms were almost piled one on top of the other as he stirred.

First, he stretched, in that graceful, sleepy manner that not one of them had seen in months. He was groggy, but that certainly made sense—he'd been out for a while, and there was still plenty of sedative in his system.

But still, he was a sight to see. Though he'd come to them small, for a li—…a… ti…? …a cat, now, he was a _pahlawan_—a big guy. He used to be about the size of a small lion, but now, he was as big as a fully-grown tiger—he might even compete in stature with the legendary Shere Kahn, who the local elders still remembered.

When they'd met him—or, rather, when he'd met them—they'd assumed he was a lion, a weird-looking lion. But, shortly, they were less sure of themselves. Stripes had become more and more visible, day by day. His bone-structure had changed—even his eye color did, too. They went from being a dull, slate gray, to a shinier, darker near-black shade. His mane was less concentrated, and created a dark overlay across a larger portion of his neck and even his chest. His fur, overall, had lightened, a few shades, and had even become more orange…

They were really looking forward to meeting him.

He let out a low, long, soft groan, and opened his eyes—or tried to. Blinking rapidly, trying to rid himself of the hazy blur that rendered sight useless, he shakily attempted to stand.

He would have fallen if they hadn't jumped to his side, instantly, to support him.

"Careful, careful, my son," an elder murmured, gently easing the cat down, "you've been out for quite some time, no? Thus…" he smiled toothily, "you should take it easy for some time, at least…"

There was a pause. He stopped trying to stand, and instead, it was as if he was trying to relearn how to use his body. It made sense, he'd undergone so many changes in such a short period of time—it was something of a miracle that he'd even survived.

"I've been out…" he rasped, groaning, his snout scrunching up as he seethed in pain, "…that makes sense…"

His foreign, monotonous tone made them all tense up. They weren't scared, certainly not, but there was a palatable texture to his voice—a sort of bleakness, a tangible feeling of sadness that seeped into his every word—it wasn't something they'd experienced anything like, ever before.

"…How long… …have I been out…?" he murmured, opening his mouth, several degrees, to run his tongue across the impressive kirpans—daggers—that were his teeth. He winced, a little, and flexed his jaws, several times, feeling the added muscle that backed them ripple under his fur.

"Quite some time, my son," the elder said, dabbing some pungent-smelling ointment onto the deep gouges from which they'd pulled out God knew how many spikes, "about… two weeks. You were in very bad shape when you came to us," he chuckled, "we weren't even sure that you were going to make it. But you did—there's something about you, I think, that wouldn't let go of life. You were holding onto it by the thinnest, most frayed of threads… but something about you didn't let you fall into the next world. And so… you live."

There was a pause.

"_I'm alive…"_

Groaning, he tried to get up again, and despite the way they surrounded him, preparing to halt another fall, he managed to stand, shakily, on his own four paws.

His eyes fluttered as they opened, again. He hissed, shuddering, but managed to not moan in pain, and, panting, raised his head to pan his gaze over his saviors—who were still, to him, just random blobs in the field of his vision.

"So… I suppose I owe you my life…" he said, plastering on that terrible, grimace of a smile. Finally, his vision began to normalize… and he finally saw them properly.

"In a way, that's so, my son…" the elder grinned, "but we prefer to think that the only ones you owe your life to are your parents…"

He was silent.

Large reptiles were never beings he'd had good relationships with. He'd been assaulted by crocodiles countless times in the Jungle, and then, in the Southern Rocklands, he'd literally been swallowed by a Southern Dragon.

These beings were different…

…But not to him.

True, their snouts were long and tapered down to such a small width that, logically, they'd never be able to harm him if they tried. And there was, of course, the fact that they had saved him from otherwise certain death.

But he didn't see that. He didn't see any of that. All he saw were teeth, lots of them, and jaws, lots of them, and enemies, lots of them.

Instinct took over. Even as he watched their surely sadistic smiles falter, his heartrate and breathing picked up so that he was panting, his snarl deepening with every gasp. His darker eyes were shadowed, now, and the sudden rush of blood and adrenaline brought down the shaking in his limbs, so that he stood strong.

"_Everyone was a threat at home, everyone is a threat here, and everyone everywhere will be a threat. Everyone is a threat."_

"_I'm not going to forget that lesson again."_

The elder dared to speak, and even approach him a little. His long form was wrinkled and wizened, but carried innumerable scars—he'd seen his share of violence, and tasted it, too. He wasn't a weakling.

Not good.

(Arr, a bit of bad language lays ahead, maties.)

"Is something the matter, my—"

The roar was sudden, intense, and, to them, unprovoked. But it made the forest shut up for hundreds of yards in every direction, and it made them gasp, stand in front of their children, protectively, and cock their tails… their only weapons.

He was still panting, and his face was a mask of terror and rage. He might be skinny, almost unhealthily so, but he was still large and had enough muscle on him to massacre every single one of them without breaking a sweat.

"No. No. Get away, get away from me! You bastards aren't going to try to kill me too—if you do, I'll kill you, I swear I will—I'LL KILL YOU!" he yelled.

Mouth half-opened to snarl and prepare to bite, his eyes darted around for both an escape and a forthcoming attack. He tried to smell, but his nose was blotted up with a strong-smelling herb—no doubt, it was to cloud his mind for who knew what sort of unspeakable torture, later. His ears flickered this way and that, this way and that, as they listened, carefully, for something—anything.

"…You'll kill us… if we try to kill you…?" the elder said, scoffing, just a little, causing him to flinch, terrible, as that long mouth was opened, "Well… I suppose we're safe, then, my son. We're not going to hurt you…" To demonstrate, he stepped forward, just a little.

Big mistake.

He'd always been an optimist. No lesson ever taught him cynicism—I mean, realism—no matter how painful it was.

Not even a blow so hard that it dented his toughened scales, roughly etching several deep, jagged cuts through them all.

It made him grimace, in pain. But it certainly didn't change his intentions.

"Might I ask what that was for?" the elder questioned, politely, smiling, even as he canted his head at the cat. The rest of the family tensed, hissing, growling, moving to converge on their suddenly violent guest.

However, he was still panting and growling, and his eyes were still darting around frantically. It was terrible to watch, and painful to consider that they were causing such fear by their very presence.

Suddenly, the elder's good humor failed.

"Oi. Coward. Yes, I'm talking to you. Look here—don't disrespect me like this," he growled.

The cat hissed horribly, but extended his claws, lowering himself… and looked… not really at the elder, but, sort of through him. His gaze was aimed directly at the elder, but their eyes were not meeting. It was lip-service, and an offhand but very intentional "fuck you" gesture.

The elder didn't take very well to it at all.

"Are you stupid, or cross-eyed, or do you dare to disrespect me?" he snapped, making the cat flinch and flatten his ears, "Look. At. Me. It's not so hard to do—yes, there you go."

"Not so hard, is it?"

There was silence. No one spoke and even fewer lowered their guard. Tense…

His eyes were dark, almost black, and reflective—like finely polished obsidian or a similar igneous substance. Though his expression was a threatening and practiced snarl, there were two strange qualities about it. One was that it seemed a little awkward—that was due to the fact that his control over his new body wasn't yet precise enough to give him great control over his facial muscles. The other was that it no longer seemed genuine. It wasn't plastered on, not really… but it was as if he was too tired, too defeated, to allow a smile or even a look of the apathy that was expressed with his voice to overcome his features.

"…No. It's not."

"Good," the elder said crossly, "now, answer. Tell us—who are you, where you hail from, and… what… exactly… you are. Not a lion, not a tiger, not quite something in between like the Dark One. Tell us—do not attempt to run, you aren't well yet, and the Banghar Clan is still out there, calling for your head on a platter. So… tell us," he said, for the third time, "who are you?"

There was another pause. Slowly, his expression normalized, but his noble, sleek ruff sagged, showing depression. His whiskers dropped, and he lowered his head, speaking to his saviors' feet.

"I hail from the Jungle… in the Land of the Spirits. It's not local," he murmured; responding to the sudden flash of hissing whispers that crisscrossed the group, save for its bold elder, "what I am… …not a lion, not a tiger, not something halfway in between. My grandfather was a tiger, but my grandmother was a lioness. My father was a lion," he groaned, shuddering, gritting his teeth as growing pains suddenly spiked.

He panted, for a moment, to try to control himself, and looked up with a smile that was twisted, mangled, chewed-up-and-spit out, hopeless, and was as painful to view as it was to form.

"So, there's only one thing you can call me…"

"…a freak."

"And," he rasped, "that's my name—it always has been, and it always will be…"

"Freak…"

Reality…

Dreams…

Blackness…

* * *

This time, he couldn't think. Not even a little. It's hard for the Lion Sheikh to explain—he was self-aware, still, but not much else. He knew he wasn't dead, though, and that was somewhat comforting.

Time meant nothing. It was as dimensionless as the black enclosure in which Freak found himself. He tried to "move", in a fashion, testing the limits of his cage. These were the times when his limbs would twitch, or his eyelids would flutter. He couldn't really break free, though. So, eventually he gave up, and allowed himself to slip away, sort of, into the cold, lonely abyss of death.

In the end, though, he didn't die. That would be a poor ending to such a fanfiction—that is, he wasn't allowed to die. Though he was quite content to allow himself to slide down the cliff of mortality into the valley below, his will wasn't the only force in play.

And so, slowly, little by little, the li-tigon was pulled back from beyond the brink. One could say that he had died, and be correct, or at least, partially correct. But what happened to Freak could be called transformation, or even rebirth.

* * *

This time, he awoke instantly and without drama. He was asleep one second, and awake the next. The change was as sudden and seemingly mundane as the flick of a light switch. One second his eyes were shut, the next, they were open.

This time, they met the elder's eyes directly. It's not that he could have avoided it, even if he'd tried to—the reptilian's face wasn't an inch from his.

This time, though, he wasn't afraid. So, for several seconds, as the elder's hand applied more of that strong-smelled salve to the grievous wound on his muzzle, they stared at one another.

The reptilian was first to speak.

"What made you scared of us, I think, is that we look like crocodiles. But, my son, we are not crocodiles. We are related to them, distantly, but we are gharials. We cannot hurt you, my son, our jaws are not so strong. Only good for catching fish, you see?"

Freak was still, for a moment. Then, he nodded, curtly, but didn't say a word. The elder continued to tend to his injuries, and only when he'd backed away, giving the li-tigon breathing room did Freak speak.

"…I'm grateful for your help," he said in that low, dejected tone, "but…"

"…why?" he rasped, groaning, as he started to test out his limbs, accepting the new, heightened level of awareness, prowess, speed, and sense that his body gave, "why would you help me? I'm not of your blood, or your land—I'm not of anyone's blood… anyone's land…" he murmured, looking down, and extending his razor-sharp, knife-like claws.

"Well," the elder said, as he circled Freak, checking that a series of contusions on the li-tigon's side were healing nicely, "there is, of course, the fact that you, my son, are a predator like us. Predators must help other predators, yes? And cats, like yourself, are being exterminated left and right by the Banghar Clan and humans alike. It doesn't matter that you're not a son of this soil," he said, facing Freak again, "we have a responsibility to help you.

"_Responsibility to help…"_

"… _Even me?"_

Freak was silent. He struggled not to think, as emotion threatened to overcome him. He somehow knew that the Banghar Clan's standard operating procedure was to spread the word about their objective—killing him—far and wide, promising rewards for assistance, and swearing bloody justice for abetting their enemy.

These gharials were risking their lives by healing him. And it wasn't as if it was a short affair, either. He'd been out for over two weeks, now, and required, aside from the most time-consuming and tricky of medical procedures, food, water, and shelter…

The li-tigon sat, for a moment, head hung. He tried to busy himself with the examination of his claws, but, slowly, his chest began to heave. He wasn't nauseous.

"What's wrong, my son?" the elder asked, as he turned away, cleaning his scaled appendages with an antiseptic leaf, "does Hindustan's climate not agree with you?"

"_No…"_ Freak thought, as he looked around, all around.

Vines here were thick and loose and covered with moss and fungus. Trees were wide and proud and strong, and perhaps a little more forgiving than the harsh plants atop the cliff from which he'd fallen. Freak noted, vaguely, that he was in a swamp—generally, he was too obsessive about cleanliness to stay in such muddy water for long, but he knew, somehow, that the gharials were not dirty creatures. Though muddy and sometimes choked with leaves and debris, the wide lake in which they lived wasn't polluted. Without realizing it, Freak digested the information from suddenly sensitive nodes of nerves under his coat—slight fluctuations in the heterogeneous swamp's flow moved his fur, barely, telling him that the fish that lived in it were healthy.

His eyes now were not shiny in and of themselves, as they looked upon the old gharial.

"_You've fed me, and cared for me, and sheltered me…"_

"…_wait…"_

"…_food?"_

"My son..?" the elder prompted.

"No, I'm… I'm alright," Freak said in his low, gruff voice, as he took his eyes off his many saviors, and looked down. It was a second before he spoke again, this time, in a softer, friendlier, even happier tone. "I'm… so… _so_… thankful to you for what you've done. There's no question in my mind—if you didn't, I'd be beyond dead, now. I'd only be bones and a bad memory…"

"But I have to know…"

"What did you feed me?"

By now, most of the gharials had left Freak and the elder alone. A few children, no larger than the li-tigon's forearm, played with each another, splashing, as they darted by. They paused long enough to greet the elder respectfully, addressing him with the title of "baba", before moving on.

"Why, fish, my son," he said, stroking one of his grandsons before looking back to Freak, "it's our only prey—you aren't allergic, are you?"

The li-tigon had groaned, and was now hunched over, gritting his teeth. He shook his head, as two trails of wetness reached from his eyes to his snout.

"No. No. Not allergic," he rasped, as agony from his growth spurt still rolled back and forth from perception, "just… I made a promise…"

"Well, please, share, my son," the elder smiled, as Freak finally walked out of the swamp, without shaking himself off, "I have plenty of free time, these days, and you will not be well enough to go anywhere for at least another week."

As the murky, green water dripped off of his body, leaving a dull, olive residue and pulling his fur into long tendrils, Freak stood, for a moment, considering. He seemed to flinch with every motion, but didn't lie down to relax or heal—he stood, and accepted the pain. He knew he deserved it.

"I can't eat meat anymore. I won't. I won't kill another creature to live—I'm not worth dying for. It's wrong."

The words tumbled out, quickly, like a flash-flood or avalanche. But the li-tigon's flow of speech was cut off as quickly as it had began, and he looked aside, refusing to lick himself clean or speak again.

"You won't eat meat?" the elder said after a spell of silence, "but my son, you are a predator! It's your nature," he said in stupor, canting his head, "you'll deny nature because you believe you're not worth dying for…?"

"…I'm not natural."

There was a pause.

"No. No, my son. You are. You were born to a mother, yes? You have two ears, two eyes, a nose, a mouth, and a brain, yes? You think, you feel, and you dream, yes…?"

Freak's jaw muscles rippled under his ruff as he gnashed his teeth—but he didn't nod.

"No, my son, you are natural—"

"Why do you call me 'son'?" Freak interrupted, turning, suddenly, to level his dark, intent gaze at the gharial. "You have sons of your own, and I swear to you, they are a thousand times greater than I can ever be. I'm not your son—I'm not the son of anything or anyone either—"

"Enough."

For once, it was the li-tigon's turn to be frozen by a powerful, intense stare. Freak was a crazy motherfu—that is, a confident, dominant being. But he was humbled by the ironclad glare the old gharial fixed upon him. It was odd—he could, he was sure, tear this old reptile apart and feed him to his grandchildren while he still lived. But that stare was like being in the focal point of a million candela spotlight: Freak was motionless.

"You will never again say that you are unnatural or that you do not belong here around me. And you will remain among my family until you are well enough to travel—at that point, I cannot tell you what to do… Though I suggest that you find the Dark One. He will help you find peace…"

"Until then, though, you are my humble guest," the elder growled, "and, as a good guest, you will do as I say. You will eat fish—you will," he growled, "and you will stomach it."

Freak had made a sudden, hissing gasp of protest, but was shut up again.

"Now… I think it will be a week until you can leave. You're a strong one, my son, but you cannot rush things—the body, like the mind, sometimes needs its own time to sort itself out. Understood?"

The li-tigon had two choices. He would accept—but he could do so grudgingly, or gallantly. The choice was simple.

Freak nodded, slowly, just a few degrees. Then he moved, suddenly, and before the elder could react, he was lifted off the ground and squeezed, hard.

He wasn't being assaulted, though, that's why his family didn't rush to his aid—though, to be fair, for a good few seconds, they did consider doing just that.

Whispering numerous, heartfelt thank-you-very-muches into the gharial male's side, Freak didn't realize that the added muscle and adjusted bone structure that his new body sported rendered him powerful enough to squeeze the life out of most animals—including an armored, scaled reptilian.

And yet, the elder merely patted the li-tigon's back, grinning, a little, before speaking. "You are, of course, very, very welcome, my son, but please release me, yes? I would like to spend at least a few more years on this Earth with my family."

"Oh… of course. Apologies," Freak said, as, immediately, his embrace ceased, and he backed off. There was a pause, as the gharial studied his guest, who was busy cleaning off his paw with a scratchy, prehensile tongue.

"You are not in such a bad condition, my son, that you cannot already work to regain your strength. I don't very much understand it, but in the short time you have spent with us, you have changed—greatly. Yes, the way you move, my son, I see it—you are not yet used to your body. There is only one way to get used to your body, my son," he said, flexing his shoulders.

Freak stopped licking his paw, and looked at the gharial, cocking his head. His brow furrowed, but his heartrate sprang with the thrill of anticipation, but the sudden spray of water that soaked him again was totally unforeseen.

Laughing and moving with surprising alacrity, the elder darted off towards the center of the pool, leaving Freak in his wake.

"So, my son," he chuckled, pausing, so that, from twenty yards away, Freak's near-black eyes picked up the endless, tight bunches of muscle under that old, withered, wrinkled, but proud frame, "you are three-fourths lion, and one fourth tiger. Do you think it is beyond your capacity to swim?"

The li-tigon was still, for a moment. For a second, he recalled Adhabu's strange prowess in water, with a pang, before he clamped down on his mind, shutting out those painful… _obsolete_… memories.

"_Maybe this is a new beginning,"_ Freak thought as he hyperventilated, a little, allowing his nerve and adrenalin to build, _"maybe I've been sent to Hindustan to start over. I have a new body, new principles, new… …friends…"_

"_Yes. This is a new beginning. A new life…"_

"…_I swear I'll make the most of it."_

Freak had, throughout his life, been a painfully repressive individual. It was through necessity that he'd done almost _nothing_ "just for fun" in his cubhood (for what is cubhood fun but watered-down combat training?). It was through fear that he'd kept himself from really showing affection and emotion to the Pride Landers, the Desert Warriors, and others. It was through hopelessness that he 'd refused to acknowledge the depth of his heart to himself, every minute of every day of every week of every month of every year of a life that was lived minute to minute, day to day, week to week, month to month, year to year…

No more. This was a new beginning, a new life… a new Freak. He was the same being, in a fashion, but now, he was going to let go of the past, and look to create a future for himself.

No more death, no more pain, no more hopelessness, no more loneliness, no more worry, panic, fear, or anger. No more guilt…

"_Maybe… Hindustan isn't so bad… after all…"_

And so, it was with a desperately rare smile that would, God willing, recover and become as common and cherished as a meal with whoever he might call a friend in the future that Freak dove into the lake, struggling, for a moment, until instinct took over and, for once, pointed him in the right direction…

* * *

For a being to whom swimming came as naturally as breathing, the elder—Salim was his name—was a fairly good instructor. Freak was a land-animal and always had been. His muscles were configured for the low resistance of atmosphere, not the thick, soupy concoction of swamp-water.

Despite that, though, his progress was nothing short of remarkable. More than once did Salim's three youngest grandchildren, Tahir, Jahanara, and Amira, stop by to watch the li-tigon practice, time and again despite repeated failure, the most basic of swimming maneuvers.

Amira, a golden-eyed female with a voice like the chirp of one of Hindustan's many exotic songbirds, even pointed out, once, that Freak should be able to move faster if he were to flatten his ears.

The li-tigon followed the young gharial's advice, and when he managed to swim farther than he had before underwater, without rising to breathe, he surprised her with a smile. For a second, it faltered, though, as Amira blushed, returning the smile.

"_The last time I've smiled at a young female…"_

"_Uvuli…"_

The young gharials had moved on, leaving Freak to his practice. Salim had sat back to relax; saying that his old bones needed a rest. Regardless, the li-tigon was encouraged and directed from afar, as the old reptilian neared a clump of mangroves.

He disappeared from view, after that, and, curious, Freak doggy-paddled, with surprising grace, towards the lake's bank. The sun was low in the sky, not quite setting, yet, so as the li-tigon shook himself off, the millions of tiny water droplets caught its rays, refracting them, so thousands of bright but small candles gleamed until Freak was dry.

His fur was longer, now. Longer, thicker, and shaggier, too; but it didn't make him uncomfortable. Instead, it served as a useful barrier to the moisture of the Hindustani jungles, and Freak found himself wishing he had this coat years ago—it would have made a stiflingly hot summer, years ago, many times more bearable.

Salim was still below the surface of the water, and, despite the fact that his family didn't seem to be worried in the slightest, Freak grew concerned. Leaving large, deep pugmarks in the damp soil behind his, he made for the thick group of trees at the nearby mouth of a winding stream.

As he neared the more forested part of the lake, his more prominent stripes made him nearly disappear—it was incredible. Before, he'd had to hunker down and concentrate, hard, to blend into the environment. But now, he stalked through his habitat like a ghost.

Freak's expression was, mostly, blank, but there was a hint of concern on it. Salim still wasn't coming up. No matter—the li-tigon was only feet away, so, if the old gharial was in trouble, he'd be right there to help—right there.

"_I won't allow people to hurt around me again. Never again,"_ he promised himself, mostly as an implement of distraction. Because Salim still wasn't coming up…

Freak was leaning out over the lake, now. His bodyweight was balanced, mostly, on his front paws, which gripped to a moss-covered rock that offered plenty of traction. His eyes allowed him, now, to peer not _at_ the surface of water… but through it…

But when Salim came up like that, with three fish in his maw and going fast enough to rise a good five feet out of the water, Freak was caught off-guard. And despite the level of comfort he displayed around the gharials (he could allow them to come close to him, for instance, without growling and extending his claws), he was ever-fearful.

Salim wondered what had caused that large, heavy rock to fall into the lake, as he took care to ram a tooth through each of his preys' skulls, killing them instantly. He wondered, until, by chance, he looked up into the trees.

"…My son, I must admit that I am impressed. Most beings can climb or swim, but, it appears that you can do both. Why, though, are you shaking so much? Are you in pain, my son? Or cold? I know that you warm-blooded creatures cannot be in water for so long, and we've been practicing for hours now…"

It occurred to Freak that he hadn't really been listening to the old gharial. He'd been reading Salim's lips, because the way his heart pounded in his ears rendered hearing useless. It also occurred to him that he'd been holding his breath, and that his paws were gripping the tree branch tightly enough to make him white-knuckled.

Hindustan was still a foreign land to him, and so, a little jumpiness was to be expected. And, for a muscled li-tigon in the prime of his life, a little jumpiness entails leaping, backwards, and scampering up a twenty foot tree without thinking about it.

"…No, Salim… ...I'm fine," he said. He hopped down, taking advantage of his broad paws' ability to accept the impact of the drop easily, and turned to the gharial with a sullen, blank expression, moving away, warily, from the fish…

The gharial, however, noticed Freak's hesitation to ask for food. He was a good host, though, and knew that the li-tigon had trained long and hard—and was still recovering from a great illness. Freak needed food, meat, and plenty of it.

"Catch, my son," Salim chuckled, flicking two of the fish towards Freak. He kept one for his own, a lean, blue-scaled creature, and began to chow down at the side of the river.

The li-tigon reared up on his hind legs, with a determine expression, opening his maw. His eyes were wide and saliva began to collect in his mouth in anticipation, but then, his appetite failed, and he merely batted the fish down… and didn't touch them.

Salim noticed, several seconds later, that Freak was staring at his food. Hunger was evident in his eyes, but he wasn't eating. It seemed, to the gharial, from the hopeless, dejected expression on the li-tigon's face, that he'd rather starve than eat food that was inches from his paws.

Maddening.

And so, with a sigh of effort, the old gharial pulled himself from the lake, and, twitching in irritation, walked to Freak.

"Do you not like this kind of fish, my son?"

The li-tigon shook his head curtly, but didn't look up. He bared his teeth instead, groaning, as growing pains made him shudder.

"Then, why do you not eat?" Salim questioned.

Freak finally looked to the gharial, and spoke desperately.

"I don't… I don't mean to insult you at all. But… …I can't bring myself to do this. It's wrong. You'll strike me for saying this, but I don't mind. I don't mind. I deserve it. I'm not worth killing or dying for… I can't eat this meat. I'm sorry."

Salim's eyes narrowed, and he clenched a fist… then relaxed it. Beatings were a tried and true way of teaching a disobedient cub a lesson, and, in Salim's opinion, that's all Freak was—a lost, lonely cub in need of a great many lessons.

But he was not the one to teach these lessons—that was the Dark One's job.

"My son, I will admit to it," he sighed, "you are trying my patience. But if it's a battle of wits you want, you are not in very much luck. I am not in the mood," Salim said, with a sudden smile, "I have not the patience to talk to you and teach you why it's acceptable to eat meat."

"So, instead, I am telling you," the old gharial said, his bright features darkening instantly to a pressuring, rough glare, "eat the fish, my son. Don't make me repeat my order."

For a second, the li-tigon twitched. He considered shaking his head, courteously, and leaving—Salim would be powerless to stop him. That's what he would have done in the Land of the Spirits. But here in Hindustan, with his new body, new principles and new morals, in a new life… he had to act correspondingly different.

And so, he submitted. It was incredible—he'd stared down adult hippos, before, and wildebeest, and hyenas, and lions… But he wouldn't—no. He _couldn't_ disobey Salim. That's because, Freak would come to realize, Salim had something that he never had.

Salim had purpose on his side, purpose and _compassion_. Though tough love was a concept often twisted by peoples worldwide, the older gharial knew how to love and how to be tough, when needed. It wasn't a characteristic that was his alone—his father before him, and his grandfather before his father had also been harsh, but compassionate men—great men, strong men, that had kept their families alive and healthy through the worst times in living memory.

Freak, on the other hand, had only purpose. It wasn't a noble purpose—the be all and end all of his existence was just that—existence. His only goal was to survive. Rarely did events occur that allowed him to consider the possibility that he might someday have more than existence. Freak was an expert at living… but he was a complete novice at _living_.

True life, true contentment… these were things that Salim couldn't teach. The Dark One could, perhaps… but Freak had had attempts _against his life_ for nothing other than being as he was created. Was the li-tigon's soul broken beyond repair…?

This was something that future chapters—that is, the future, would tell. But what Salim knew was that to _live_, Freak had to live. So, until every last shred of flesh had been scraped from the fishes' bones, the gharial held his stony gaze.

"I'm finished…" the li-tigon said pathetically, looking at the remains of his meal. Though his hunger was sated, he felt sick. It took a great deal of effort to stomach the food, but he managed it.

"That's very, very good, my son," Salim said, and reared up, a little, to stroke Freak's neck. He'd seen felines show affection to one another before… …a very, _very_ long time ago, back when cats were respected and liked, not hated. His simple motion was meant to be a sort of reward for Freak, and the li-tigon's surprised blink and the relaxation that was spoken through his body language suggested that Salim's observations were correct.

Perhaps the li-tigon really was just a lost, lonely cub in need of not only lessons, but someone to teach them—a parent figure.

"_Maybe that's it,"_ he thought, as he felt his morose expression leave, slowly, _"being with Grandmother did so much good for me. I bet that if I'd allowed her to, Sarabi would have been good for me, too. But Salim is not acting out of guilt, in any way… and it hurts to say this, but Grandmother was. There was a desperation in her treatment to me; she wanted to set things right. But Salim is, in a way, a better replication of a parent—he's caring for me out of the goodness of his heart alone."_

"_Grandmother… I'm not thinking badly of you, at all. But I needed more. In a way, Grandmother, you set me on the right path by readying me for a real parent… thank you. I l—I love you…"_

Freak noted that he was now looking into a crystal-clear puddle next to the swamp. He only saw his reflection… but, really, what was he but his grandmother, his grandfather, his father, his mother, and all of his other ancestors? Samehe was gone… somewhat. Because as long as Freak lived, as long as his empty, locked-up heart beat… Samehe lived.

* * *

The sun had set, and the gharials were starting to turn in. At first, Salim wanted Freak to stay right at the water's edge, so an eye could be kept on him, but the li-tigon had promised to not run, and had been allowed to curl up several yards away, in a drier, grassier area.

The li-tigon gritted his teeth, but otherwise, didn't react as a beetle the size of a small fruit decided that he was a threat and carved a painful wound into his side. The insect would have continued; Freak just turned the other cheek, hissing in pain, even as it threatened to gut him…

A blur of motion and a grotesque crunching sound announced the end of the insect's journey, and, as Salim turned, Freak looked, regretfully, at the broken pieces and steaming mass of gore that remained of the beetle. In a way, he felt reminded of himself—maybe Salim was only looking after him out of pity. Maybe all he was were broken pieces and repulsive, toxic gore.

The gharial sighed, and sat down in front of Freak. He noted, eye twitching, that the li-tigon's gaze was off to the side.

The sky wasn't the dark blue that it was in the Land of the Spirits, where, on any given night, one could look up and count the stars in God knew how many distant constellations. In Hindustan, the night sky was _black_, and attempting to penetrate it to see any sign of the Heavens above was pointless.

"Do you know, my son," he said, turning over to bare his belly to Freak in a blatant display of trust, ignoring the fact that the li-tigon's paws were configured _just_ right to give him a speedy escape, if need be, "that our ancestors look down upon us, from the stars?"

There was a pause. Then, slowly, Freak slumped over, turning, to face the sky as well.

"_Black…"_

"…Yes, I've… heard a story like that before."

"_Ar__é,_ is that so? From whom did you hear such a thing, my son?" Salim asked, grinning.

"I heard it from my cousin," the li-tigon said emotionlessly, "he told me that the great kings of our past look down upon us from those stars. He told me that his father told him that—that they… watch over us, they protect us… and that whenever he feels alone, or in need of guidance… he looks to the stars…"

"…_Wah wah;_ your cousin, my son, is a clever man—and his father is, too. But tell me, my son… what do you think about stars? Do you think that our ancestors look down on us, that they protect us, from the Heavens… or do you believe, instead, something crazy, like… stars are giant burning balls of gas, millions of miles away?" the elder laughed.

Freak was silent for a long, long time. His eyes were more powerful than they ever had been before, and, to replicate these results, the Lion Sheikh suggests a diet heavy in carrots… but still, they couldn't see anything in the sky. Nothing—not even the slightest glimmer of light…

"…I don't know what to believe," Freak said heavily, turning away from the gharial, "I've tried—I really have—to believe in the power of the Spirits. But Salim… they… haven't really protected me… ever. What little I have… I have in _spite _of the Spirits. It hurts to say this… but it feels like the Spirits have only ever tried to harm me. Nothing else…"

The gharial sighed, and looked to the sky, for another moment. Throughout the day, Freak hadn't said much, but Salim was an observant being—he knew that the li-tigon's life had been unspeakable tough, brutal, and lonely. So… as much as it hurt to say… Freak's near-atheism was understandable.

"Sometimes, my son, things can feel that way…"

"I know. But this isn't sometimes, Salim… it's always. I'm… look at me," he said, turning to face the gharial with a face racked with sadness, "they tried to kill me by sending me to Hindustan, and they very, _very_ nearly succeeded. They gave me a different body… they took away the one thing I thought I had. I've lived in the Jungle, the Desert, the Pride Lands, and traveled through other places."

"But the one thing I thought I had was the Land of the Spirits."

"It looks like even that's too much."

There was a pause.

"…Well, then, my son, why live the way you do? Why give up meat, why not kill for fun? Why not live for only yourself, without regards to anything else? Because, my son, you are wrong about one thing…"

"You have never had this Land of the Spirits."

"You see, my son," Salim said coolly, looking skywards, "all that any of us really haves are our own selves. That's it—anything else can be taken. Life can be taken, limbs, family, friends, home, nation, honor… but even death cannot take us from ourselves. You must have experienced it, at least once in your life, surely, my son… surely you have been visited by a dead ascendant, or friend, yes?..."

Freak nodded, looking, bleakly, at the sky. Crickets chirped as the last of the gharial youngsters were ushered to their parents' sides. This part of Hindustan wasn't so bad… but Freak couldn't stay; he wouldn't. He wouldn't plague a peaceful, honorable family with his poison for any longer than they forced him to.

"Well, then, you see, even death cannot truly kill us. And my question remains: why do you not live a life of hedonism, of hate, my son, when it seems that that's all there is for you?"

There was another pause.

"Ah, you do not know, do you?"

"…No. I don't."

"Then, my son, I'll tell you why you don't. It's because your brain tells you that the Spirits do not care about you or that they want you to die… but your heart, so to speak, says something else. You see? What you say… it makes sense, I think. Why should you believe in God, why should you do the right thing, if all you reap is pain and depravity in return?"

"The answer, my son, is not a simple one. And it is not an answer that I can give you—it is beyond my capacity. You'll have to see the Dark One, he will answer your questions."

Freak nodded, slowly, but his brow furrowed, and he turned to the gharial.

"Salim… I've heard about this 'Dark One' before, from the Banghar Clan—they wanted to kill him, so, I suppose, he can't be all that bad… the enemy of my enemy is my fri—my ally. But… what—who, is he?"

Salim just laughed, and looked back to the sky.

"Ah, you are a clever one, my son, but I have been on this Earth longer than you have. When you are well enough to leave, I will tell you where and how to find the Dark One; it's a closely-guarded secret for his safety, you see. And it's also, I think, one of the few reasons that you are not walking out of my home this very minute, yes?"

Freak was silent. His ears flattened, a little; no, that wasn't his intention, not at all. He was just curious…

"The Dark One is a cat, like you, my son. He is a little bigger than even you, I think… ah, I will tell you more when it is time, my s—hmm…" Salim said, thoughtfully, stroking his chin with a scaled appendage, "we need a new name for you."

The gharial strated to rattle off a list of Hindustani names, along with brief meanings and histories. Freak listened only halfheartedly. As far as he concerned, Freak fit him just fine, but, if he had to have a real—that is, a less accurate, sugarcoated name…

"_Not Shujaa."_

"Ah, my son, names must have a meaning behind them, yes? So, let us pick one out for you that has meaning behind it."

Freak looked, motionlessly, skyward, as Salim stood, and walked in his awkward, old-gharial-fashion to the li-tigon's side. Muscled arms wrapped, halfway, around his thick chest, Freak didn't react as the reptilian examined him with his careful, wizened blue eyes.

"…Your left eye, my son... close it."

Freak did as he was told, shutting his scarred eye. He tensed up, stiffing a frightened his, as Salim's rough, scaled finger stroked the length of that pinkish slash.

"This is the only wound you had that we could not heal. I am curious, my son… how did you receive it?"

As the gharial gave Freak his space again, the li-tigon thought. But there was no way to sugarcoat this…

"My mother gave it to me."

"…And, my son… why was that…?"

"…Because she was trying to kill me. …But it's not what you think. Not at all," Freak said huskily, "she tried to kill me to _protect_ me… from the wretched half-life that I now lead. She tried to kill me… because she loved me. Heh… terrible, isn't it…? That a mother would be pushed to a point where she attempts to kill her child—_her own flesh and blood_—because the alternative, life, is a thousand times worse?"

"And if you think that's terrible," Freak grinned, sadly, "well… that was my first day alive. Believe me when I say this, Salim… I've seen, and done, and experienced, much, much worse things than attempted murder… by my own mother."

There was silence for such a spell that Freak thought that Salim had drifted into sleep. The way the gharial lay there, motionlessly, like him… it was as if he was still rooted to the spot by the dark, disturbing story of Freak's birth.

"I think, my son, I have a name for you. It is timely, yes? You are in a new land, you have a new life… so, you need a new name. And I think I have one that fits you well."

"You came to us scarred, and it looks like that you will leave us scarred. Even when you meet the Dark One… there are some wounds that only time will heal. So—you have many scars, both physical and not so physical… can you guess your new name, my son?" Salim grinned, almost as if he was playing a game, "can you?"

"…_Wait… …no. It's just a circumstance. It means nothing. It's just a name…"_

"I can see that you want very much to hear it, my son, so, here you are," the old gharial said.

He rolled over to his feet with a grunt of effort, and, as he began to make his way back to his watery home, he spoke.

"From now on, my son, you will be known to us as the Scarred One. Or, for short…"

"_Just a name…"_

"…Scar."

* * *

He was a hardy li-tigon. He'd survived falls, gouges, cuts, and sicknesses before. But, over the course of the next week, pain was more and more rare. It was only occasionally, now, that Freak had to pause to double over and retch, coughing up blood from his sudden growth spurt. Aside from the telltale mark across his eyelid, his wounds had all healed, completely.

He'd kept himself at a higher level of fitness by swimming, running, climbing, and, sometimes, playing with the young gharials, all day. More than once had Tahir, Jahanara, and Amira mentioned that they'd be sad to see him off—at this, Freak only ever gave a sad smile, and asked them if they wanted to be chased again.

But, soon, even Salim had to acknowledge that Freak was healthy enough to leave. Though the li-tigon had always made it clear that he couldn't stay with the gharials, they had grown to like him. He even fished for himself, now, but they still saw that grimace of agony every time he took another living being's life.

They'd done all they could for him, and, to a degree, he was better because of it. He'd lived—and, to be fair, that was their objective when they took him in in the first place.

But still… did he really have to leave? Wasn't the purpose of life to find a home among people that care about you, and stay there, forever, to care about them?

For the gharials, the answer to that question was a resounding, impulsive, and vitally true yes. But for Freak…

He still had to find his own peace. They couldn't help him with that—the Dark One could point him in the right direction, but, as the saying goes, doors could only be opened for Freak. He'd have to walk through them on his own four feet, with his own strength, alone.

That didn't mean that they wouldn't miss him, of course.

At first, the gharial juveniles—and their grandfather—had refused to come out to see him off. But, in the end, when he said his last farewell in an incredibly emotional, _final_ manner, all four of them rushed out, looked him in the eye, and embraced him one last time.

As Tahir, Jahanara, and Amira squeezed his forelegs tightly, begging him to promise he'd be back, Salim sighed.

"You are a strange one, O Scar, my son. Though I know that you will miss us, perhaps not as much as we miss you, your face is one of stone. But I know that you feel, my son. Your eyes are unlike anything I have ever seen before, but I understand them. You do not need to show your emotions with your face, my son, because you feel them, very strongly, in your heart."

"_I wish I believed that as strongly as you do, Salim."_

There was silence. The three young gharials were pulled away by their parents, and so, Salim could lean towards the li-tigon, whispering him the secrets of the Dark One's location.

"The Dark One, my son, is like you in many ways. He, too, is of mixed parentage—his father was a lion, and his mother was a tigress. As I told you before, he is still bigger than you are, very much so, in fact. But do not fear, my son, his soul is kind and gentle, as, I am very sure, he will help yours to be."

"You will find him," Salim murmured, "thirty or so kilometers from here, directly north of the Triangle of Pain. He will be praying, or meditating… you would do well to search for him at sunrise or sunset, at any other time, he is impossible to find, my son, impossible. The last time I met with him was ten years ago, my son—times have been hard. But he told me that if I ever needed to find him, all I had to do was stand at the top of the largest waterfall in this part of Hindustan, calm, pray, and find him not physically, my son, but spiritually."

"I'm… not a spiritual being, Salim. But I'll try," Freak said, "I will try."

The gharial sighed. He looked to the li-tigon, and knew that he was being truthful. So… what more was there to ask?

"Ah—my son, you have only nibbled on fish for the past few days… you have been training, hard, and I have not been walking around with my eyes shut. You are not starving, my son, but if you continue, you will be."

"So, Scar, my son, I only ask you one thing. I cannot force you to follow my word, as you will no longer be under my care and protection—but I ask this of you as a friend, of someone who wants only the best for you."

"Eat, my son. Promise me that you will eat until you find the Dark One."

The li-tigon was silent. His face was expressionless… but, slowly, he shook his head, side to side… no.

"Salim, I respect you, I… …care… for you, and your family… and I value your friendship. But… you're asking me to do something that I can't, Salim… I can't. I can't eat. I won't be able to live, Salim, so if you really do care about me, you will tell me to starve."

"At least, that way, my will won't quaver for a second, because I can't disobey you."

Silence.

It was just after noon, and the sun was high in the sky. But here, on the shady banks of the gharials' lake, few harsh rays struck Freak. Insects worked, deeper in the forest, hiding under leaves and rocks and logs. Snakes existed, but were largely tolerant of Freak—he'd gone for a run, the previous day, and found that as long as he kept his distance, the quick, powerful animals were content to live and let live.

Salim sighed again.

"I won't wish for harm to befall you, my son. So, I will tell you now… …find peace. Find happiness. Find comfort and security in yourself. That's all I can tell you, my son, because from now on, I cannot help you anymore."

"I hope that the Dark One can, Scar, and tonight, my family will sacrifice ten plump fish for your sake."

"No, Salim… no sacrifices. But… …if it's not too much to ask… pray for me. Hindustan is still foreign to me… but I know that whatever divine beings look over this land don't hate me. I know that because they've given me friends, Salim…"

"And, for me," the li-tigon said, giving his still rare, but recovering smile, "that's so, so much."

The gharial elder grinned, tears suddenly springing to his eyes, and embraced Freak again. The two males broke, and looked at each another. It was not a look of affection: it was a look that said, "Where you're going, what you're trying to do is wrought with danger at every turn. So don't fuck up."

"Go with God, my son. Find happiness…" Salim murmured as the li-tigon turned.

The family watched him walk for a long, long time, before they finally went back to their lives. And yet, for a longer time still, Salim remained, looking after where Freak's form had disappeared.

"Find happiness…"

* * *

Pain was returning.

Though never truly banished from Freak's system during his stay with Salim and his family, the dull discomfort he felt there had exploded into a bed of needles that punctured him from every angle, at every minute of every day.

And after the pain, depression followed.

Like his hunger, there was nothing to sate it. Freak's soul had been weak since the deaths of Samehe and Sikia, and threatened to be shattered as easily, really, as his life might.

The Banghar Clan was still out there, still looking for him, and he knew it. So he kept to the shadows, traveling desperately, stealthily slow, knew that being spotted by _anything_ could mean death.

The li-tigon pressed himself against a large tree, crouching. A family of deer passed along the path ahead, and he had to look away, closing his eyes tightly to keep his growing hunger in check.

"_I can't let myself be tempted. I'm too weak."_ So, he clenched his teeth, and bit his own tongue, until the throbbing pain from the pink, prehensile organ overcame his hunger.

It took quite some down, and so, warm rivulets of blood shortly trickled down from Freak's maw.

But the deer were gone, and so, he dared get up and move on.

His expression was one of dull determination, as his long, striped form flitted through the forest. At the swamp, his coloration made him stand out, but here, in the dry forests and sudden plains that comprised the majority of the Hindustani wilderness, he was invisible.

That was some comfort.

Because, after days without food after days of mere sustenance, he knew that he wasn't standing proud and strong, as he normally did. He knew that his paws were dragging across the ground, and, more than a few times, he'd found that he'd collapsed, sometimes out in the open, from exhaustion.

But he had no other choice. He could find the Dark One… or he could instead just lie down and wait for death. Freak was a survivor: so, though every step now caused him pain, he went on. He had to.

His eyes were no longer shiny and lively—they were droopy and dull, and unfocused; pointed, blankly, ahead. It was either through luck or divine protection that he didn't tread upon snakes, which would have killed him, or the homes of harmless insects—that would have caused him to kill himself.

Quickly, Hindustan seemed less welcoming. Now, it seemed like every blade of grass wanted to stab, to cut right through his rapidly degenerating coat. Once sleek and shiny, it now barely clung to his frame. Many bones showed against its baggy folds, and, day by day, they only increased in number.

Night blended into day blended into night again. Freak didn't dare sleep, for fearing of not waking up. He had been careful, around Salim, to eat _just_ as much as he was told to, and no more. He hadn't packed on fat for the journey ahead, despite the knowledge that it would be spent, at his will, without food.

The thirty kilometer journey was, really, self-imposed Hell. Freak didn't stop mosquitos, ants, scorpions, from digging their stinging instruments through his coat and into his fur. As the sun, like the moon, continued to rise and fall, he walked on, in a trance. What little hope the li-tigon had for himself was all vested on his meeting with the Dark One—he was putting all of his eggs in one basket in the worst way… so he was being _extremely_ certain that that basket didn't fall, shattering its precious contents.

As his belly tightened further, almost caving to his spine, dark circles appeared around his eyes. Those were the last of his concerns, though.

It was… hours?... days?... ago, that he'd paused, at random, turned, and looked at his right flank. Freak had dealt with infections before… but the way this fungal growth sapped at his muscle, his strength…

Maybe he wouldn't be able to deal with it. Maybe it would kill him; but, after so many close brushes with death in such little time, Freak found that the proposition of actually dying no longer seemed so bad. Constant proximity to death in Hindustan had devalued death itself. It wasn't that Freak _wanted_ to die… he just no longer feared death, he no longer felt the desire to struggle, desperately, for his life, because he was too tired, too defeated, too lonely…

And so, as that greenish patch grew from the size of a claw to the size of a paw, making Freak's leg stiffen, and eventually lose all ability to move, the li-tigon… walked on. He walked on because he couldn't do anything else, and didn't trust himself to think up a better solution—logic, he was certain, would lead him to suicide.

"_Shameful,"_ he thought, as he dragged his useless leg along, teeth clenched in pain as they were constantly, these days, _"in the Land of the Spirits, I killed beings for looking at me wrong. But it's in this terrible land that I've awakened…"_

"_And it seems that it's in this terrible land that I will sleep my last."_

"_I wish… many things. But, most of all…"_

He paused, and sobbed once, dryly.

"_I wish I could say goodbye to my friends and family. I wish I could see them again, speak to them, touch them again, just once more. Just once…"_

"_But it seems that that's not my fate,"_ the li-tigon thought dully, not realizing where his feet were taking him, _"it seems that my fate is as it always has been… to suffer…"_

Suddenly, though, Freak paused, and blinked. Though he hadn't slept for days, now, he hadn't really been away for… quite some time. But, gradually, consciousness forced itself up, and the li-tigon panned his gaze around.

First, he noticed that the plants and trees were lush, green, not like the tough and sometimes dry foliage that he'd spent days trudging through. Second, he noticed that Hindustan seemed to be built in levels; that, or it was sloped so gradually that changes in altitude went unnoticed by him—a very real possibility; he'd walked thirty kilometers, so it was quite possibly he'd walked up a few, too. He'd fallen hundreds of yards to Salim's family, but now, not daring to approach the apex of the waterfall, he looked outwards, and down. This drop was also hundreds of yards…

"_Wait. Wait. Waterfall? Dark One should be here. Time…"_ Freak thought, having traded higher-order thinking for consciousness. He looked to the west, and only saw a few of the Sun's rays strike out over the canopy. Indeed, it was quite dark, and the clear, crystalline water that rushed past Freak's paws didn't sparkle or shine.

"_Sunset. Dark One will be here soon. Must prepare. I'm dirty… must clean."_

It was hard, it really was, for Freak to stay conscious. Darkness kept blurring in and out of his vision, playing tricks on him—several times, he thought he saw a large, black, feline form exit the treeline, approaching him, but after blinking and checking again, the li-tigon realized he was hallucinating.

Not good.

Freak scrubbed at his face hard, so hard that it, like his paws, became raw. He was, perhaps, a little insane, just then, but you can't blame him. He'd walked thirty kilometers without rest or food, taking untold dozens of insect bites and worse on the way.

The li-tigon turned, cautiously, and attempted to rub off the dark green patch on his flank. But the second his wet paw came in contact with it, mind-numbing pain shot from his leg to his skull. Freak roared suddenly, hissing, falling down into the rapid torrents of water with a splash.

Breathing heavily, he sat up, lips peeled back into a painful snarl.

"_At least I'm awake now."_

For a time, he tried to sit there and relax. The Dark One would come—he would, because he had to. Freak needed him… whoever he was.

The li-tigon's tail lashed rapidly as the sun dipped down a few more degrees. His fur was still baggy and loose, and, wet, it looked somewhat ridiculous on him—ridiculous until you realized just how hard the past days had been on him. Freak had been dealing with the pangs of hunger every second he spent with the gharials; he felt too guilty to eat enough food to get some to stick to his ribs. During his seemingly endless journey, though, starvation had never been more than a few kilometers' travel in the wrong direction, a run-in with the Banghar Clan or another band of mongooses, bandicoots, or other roving predator.

There had been rain, Freak recalled, as he licked himself, and lots of it. It could be compared to the wettest periods in the Jungle, but, the li-tigon knew, Hindustan's Season of the Rains would put any little cloudburst in the Land of the Spirits to shame.

Now, striped, sitting, and silent, Freak waited. The Dark One would be around soon, surely.

So Freak waited…

And waited…

And waited…

Then, he noticed that the sun truly had set.

"_Should have searched. Should have paid more attention to time. …Can't risk waiting until tomorrow for the Dark One. Will starve… or go insane. Method of suicide with almost certain success is not far…"_ Freak noted, peering, almost longingly, at the waterfall, and the long drop it offered.

The li-tigon groaned, in hunger, pain, and frustration, then growled at his own stupidity. Then, he looked down at the dark, sedimentary rock beneath the stream of water that moved to throw itself off that great cliff.

"_Similar to southern tip of Jungle…"_ he noted, as he closed his eyes… then slammed his head, down, _hard_, against the rock.

Freak heard a crack, vaguely, and as he looked up, stars flashing across his eyes, he felt his skull with a paw. No matter what he did with it, it was like his head was unbreakable. If only his will was that strong…

The li-tigon groaned, and gingerly stepped away from the broken, jagged pieces of rock that he'd created. He was again fully conscious, and, maybe, would be able to think…

Crickets and cicadas chirped, audible over the soft rush that the water made, and, from time to time, the mournful croon of a songbird would serenade Freak's thoughts. Normally, his memory was as lightning-fast and true as his reflexes, but now, with a stomach full of hunger and a heart full of pain, Freak found thinking difficult.

"_What was it that S… Samir…? Salim… Salim. Salim… …what was it… that Salim said, to find… the Dark One… I have to…what was it…"_

The li-tigon thought, hard, closing his eyes, both of them, both the scarred and the good one, and concentrated so hard that his body shook.

"Spiritually."

"_Spiritually…"_

"…_How?"_

Freak ignored a deep, desperate growl from his insides, and forced himself to calm. Eventually, he managed to tune everything out. Simba had taught him the rudiments of meditation, as had Rafiki, but Freak was just a little desperate, now, and hadn't the patience or the will to allow spirituality to come to him. So, instead, he forced it. Instead of slipping into a lower, or, depending on your tastes, higher level of consciousness, he shut himself down.

All energy that normally went outside, to his senses, was torn to face inside. Freak sat, motionless, mere feet from the cusp of the waterfall, and, finally, achieved his low, pathetic level of spirituality.

The li-tigon searched, for a moment, but gave up. Simba could find divinity at a moment's notice… Freak wasn't so blessed. Instead, he had to throw himself out there, and hope that the Dark One was listening.

"_Please…"_ Freak thought, allowing the word to bounce around inside his skull, for a moment, before, hopefully, leaving it, _"Please… Dark One… I need you. I will—I _am_ dying. I need you… Salim sent me. I'm on the waterfall… please come, please… this battle is one that I can't fight alone. Please…"_

There was no answer. Not even the slightest answer, or acknowledgement. Just painful, biting, silence. And, slowly, Freak gave up, retracting, allowing his mind to rise, or, depending on your tastes, lower, into the physical realm.

"_I should have known better,"_ the li-tigon thought as his face set. Calling upon his last reserves of energy, he moved, purposefully, towards the waterfall's edge…

Salim's voice was accented, powerful, dominant. This voice was accented, powerful, protective, kind, and ever willing to listen. It came from the treeline, and made Freak freeze and turn, rapidly, searching for its speaker.

"Was it you that called me, my son? Did you call for me, the Dark One? I heard someone call from here, my son, and it sounded like they needed me very much. So I rushed here, of course, and here I am. …Did you call me, my son?"

As his eyes fluttered, involuntarily, strength and resolve leaving him, Freak squinted, trying to block out those psychedelic blobs… he had to see, in case this was a trick…

"…Show… yourself…" he rasped. He managed to run, a little, facing what could very well be just another threat. What was startling was that the widest part of the li-tigon, just then, wasn't his still muscled chest or shoulders… but his head.

There was a pause. Freak heard movement, but could see nothing but the vague shapes of the treeline and the darkness that lay behind it.

"Were you expecting, perhaps, a differently colored being, my son? I am not called the Dark One for no reason, you see," the voice said politely, humorously, even.

Freak looked a little harder… and tensed up. Or, rather, he would have, if his limbs would stop shaking so much. Struggling to keep control of at least his face, stumbling, a little, as he stood, the li-tigon spoke.

"The Dark One…"

"Yes, my son, that is what I am called," said the massive, black furred cat. His fangs gleamed as he spoke, baring his position, clearly, to Freak. "So it was you that called for me—good. …You don't seem in such good condition, my son… What is your name?"

Freak blinked, rapidly, but his vision didn't clear. He panted, his chest too heavy to move without any energy left in it, but he managed to stand, and look the Dark One in the eyes… or he would have, if the Dark one would open his eyes…

Though, the li-tigon noted, vaguely, his groan slurring as he tried to speak, his wrinkled features, his closed eyes, his calm, confident, content, relaxed demeanor gave off this _vibe_… the Dark One was everything Freak wanted to be.

He groaned, though, and fell, his right leg sticking straight out behind him. _Whimpering_ for the first time in years, or ever, Freak was unable to hear the volley of questions the Dark One asked, as his huge paws brought him forward, just in front of the li-tigon.

Shaking, shuddering from pain and fatigue, Freak let his head down, so that half of his face was underwater. Then, he noted, with some sad amusement, that he had the strength to speak. Muffled and distorted by the liquid running through his maw, his answer to the last question he'd heard heard was regardless coherent and audible.

"Scar…"

* * *

(Next chapter in the Freak-Kifo universe will be My Name. More reviews will expedite future updates, but I'm not going to put a five review minimum to write. I encourage those of you that are still with me to review, though, and get other people on board. Again, kovukonos to Kudo—er, kudos to Kovukono, for helping me edit this chapter. Look for My Name within a few weeks… but until then, this is the Lion Sheikh of fanfiction… see you next chapter.) 


	17. Exile III: Family Bonds

Dawn.

Freak hardly knew it, of course. He registered, vaguely, that he was in a forest of some sort; his nose, ears, and paws told him this. He was on his side on a relatively clean patch of Earth—insects and dropping leaves and fruits left him alone.

The li-tigon was still hungry, but he wasn't really starving, anymore. At least, that's what it felt like.

He had no idea where he was, or, for that matter, how he'd gotten there. Flashes of memories jumbled, incomprehensibly, in his mind—useless.

Regardless, he was in no mood to get up. Instead, he sighed, a little, and decided to take rest, and then figure things out.

_"I might die,"_ he thought vaguely, as, painfully, he adjusted himself, not hearing a surprised "Aré!" from only feet away, _"… That's alright."_

_" I didn't come here, I think, with the intention of leaving alive. I'm prepared for death,"_ he thought, _"So…"_

_"If it wants me…"_

_"It may have me."_

* * *

The Lion King: The Freak

Chapter 17: Exile III: Family Bonds

* * *

(I'm putting in a lot of references to past chapters, below. I hope it helps to tie things together for you. There's almost no foul language in this chapter, or gruesome violence.)

* * *

He wasn't asleep for long, this time. That he knew—when he got up, the sun was directly overhead, its rays broken up into sparse beams that only occasionally reached the ground. And when he turned, checking his vicinity for, of course, threats, he saw that the depression that his body had made into the soil wasn't deep.

_"This isn't that much different from home… …or, at least, what I've considered home. I never really belonged there… or, anywhere, at all…"_

Freak was right, at least, half-right. This new part of Hindustan wasn't unlike the Jungle. The li-tigon might have realized that earlier, during his trek across the countryside, but he wasn't exactly in the best of states, both mentally, and physically. So now, for the first time, he really opened his eyes… and looked around.

It had rained recently, much like it used to in the Jungle: relatively brief storms, no longer than an hour, or so, that soaked the land, rejuvenate plants and animals alike with water. Drops of liquid caught light, now and again, so that the glistened on the surfaces and tips of leaves, trunks, vines.

Freak looked to the distance, though, squinting, a little. He was fairly sure that he was at a higher elevation, somehow, than the land at large, though the air wasn't thin, at all. It was dense, moist, alive. The li-tigon realized, vaguely, that he hadn't had any allergic reactions to anything, really, in Hindustan.

Maybe this really was his ancestral home.

Freak grudgingly allowed himself to accept that, to a degree. Everything about this place… it was just too damn familiar to be sheer coincidence. The rough, untamed trees that reached so far into the sky it was as if they meant to pierce the clouds to grab a piece of Heaven for themselves; the juxtaposition of mundane grasses and weeds and bushes with bright, exotically shaped and colored vines, flowers, cacti…

It was just too familiar. The li-tigon looked to the ground… and jumped.

Because, in the dark, wet soil all around him, there were pawprints…

… that did not belong to him.

He wasn't alone, and, judging from the size and depth of the mark, whatever had made it was _big_.

Now, he ignored the lush, private jungle; now, he took advantage of its silence instead of relishing it, listening, closely, for signs of a predator.

He got nothing.

His senses were running at full throttle, but still, he could detect no signs of anything _nearly_ big enough to create pawprints like that.

Teeth peeling back to show off a frustrated, nervous snarl, Freak turned, slowly. His eyes, both the scarred and the intact one, searched this Hindustani forest, filtering, sifting through it for any signs of another predator.

Below the primary layer of his consciousness, Freak tested himself, checking for injuries, inadequacies, and other oddities. He wasn't in the best of conditions, of course, but his physical state was head and shoulders above what it had been just eighteen or so hours ago. He was still malnourished, but after resting and giving his wounds a chance to heal, he wasn't in immediate danger of starving.

Still, he could be better.

He didn't have much energy, and certainly not enough to take on another predator or any other serious opposition. Freak shivered, a little—suddenly the forest seemed less welcoming. But then, to a freak, what kind of pathetic place _was_ welcoming?

Fight instinct had subdued; thus, flight instinct had risen. Paranoia was taking over—Freak's eyes darted this way and that, his nose sipping in scents in brief, explosive gasps. But still… nothing.

The li-tigon began to back away. He hadn't had time to really get his bearings, but he was reasonably sure there was a waterfall to a roughly western direction with respect to his current position. Due to a lack of spiritual and mental stability, he couldn't be sure, of course, but most _anything_ beat staying around, and waiting for whatever monster had made those dinner-plate wide pawprints to come.

Freak was about to scamper… but then he paused. Slowly, his muscles relaxed, a little, his half-sheathed claws pricking holes into the ground. Wind kicked up, a little, cooing maliciously, warning that the Season of the Rains would soon hit in _full_ force, brushing aside some of the leaves, yards above the li-tigon's head. For a moment, he was basked in sunlight that warmed and brightened a loose, down-and-out, dejected coat that should have been shiny with health, youth, prosperity.

_"Salim said that… the Dark One was… bigger than me."_

Slowly, Freak looked down. His striped face was mildly curious as his dusky eyes met the soil.

_"Could it be?"_

His paw left the ground, folding, a little, in that endearing, graceful feline manner. The occasional breeze ruffled brush, leaves, and the freak's mane as he set his appendage down, gently, in the pugmark of, possibly, the Dark One.

Self-esteem wasn't a concept Freak had ever really understood. Perhaps it was due to his strange dichotomy; complete confidence in terms of war and battle, but complete diffidence in terms of the _im_possibility of finding peace, friends, and a place in the world.

His emotional range was not great. He could feel, for example, varying degrees and manifestations of anger, loneliness, pain, guilt, perhaps sympathy, maybe a dash of fear, and maybe—just _maybe_—one more.

But now, Freak felt a new emotion, as he slowly brought his paw away, and raised his head. His eyes were deep and dark and clear as they came to rest…

Humility.

He was sitting there like he'd been watching for several moments; and, to be fair, he might well have been. His fur was dark, almost as black as midnight on a new moon, but he knew how to use it to his advantage. In the patchwork light of this forest, he merely stayed still among a collection of dark-colored plants, allowing Freak's eyes—accustomed to searching for movement, not detail—to float right over him.

His eyes were closed, and yet, when the li-tigon looked at their lids, he felt the Dark One look back—not with his eyes, really, but he felt a wave of attention, of interest, of… of care… wash over him.

Neither cat spoke. For the next few minutes, they just examined each another, up and down. Freak's heart had been beating so loudly, a moment ago, that it had dampened his formidable auditory senses, but now that things had cooled down, he heard—and, to a degree—felt the Dark One's heart beating powerfully, steadily, peacefully.

Freak was lean—well, now, he was beyond lean. But, in general, he kept himself fit and on the low end of a healthy size. The Dark One was similar, but with a bit more substantial serving of muscle. There was no fat to be had on either cat's frame, and, due to the Bloody Shadows invasion and then the war in the Desert of only days ago, Freak was nearing the best shape he'd even be in during his life.

The li-tigon eventually sat down, and had to angle his head a good deal upwards to face the Dark One… who, for some reason, hadn't yet opened his eyes. Stripes, blacker still than the liger's coat, were visible, from time to time, unlike Freak's now openly displayed camouflage.

Freak was the first to speak.

"So…"

"You're _not_ trying to kill me."

The li-tigon's lips twitched, as if he was considering saying more. But he fell silent, and continued to look at the Dark One, expecting a reply.

And, eventually, he received one.

"Of course not, my son. I do not believe in violence."

The answer seemed as curt as Freak's question, but the way the bigger cat said it—in a kind, rolling, accented voice—made it gentle, teaching, warm.

"… Is that so…" the li-tigon murmured, slowly.

The Dark One nodded, smiling, but didn't speak.

"… That's… good. Very, very good." Freak's face didn't change, and neither did his voice, really, but the li-tigon felt a great weight lift from his mind. The Dark One sensed this, but didn't let on. He wanted to see what Freak would tell him on his own, without prompt.

"You see… I… I'm violent. I cause death, and pain… in magnitudes that defy imagination."

The Dark One normally would have considered Freak's words hyperbolic. Yet… they were spoken in such a flat, blunt monotone completely devoid of emotion and rhetoric. He concentrated, a little, and felt Freak replaying just a few of the thousands of instances of violence he'd caused over the years to himself.

Maybe he wasn't exaggerating.

"I've killed mothers in front of their cubs," he said flatly. "I've massacred entire families, I've murdered out of pride and anger, and I never, ever do anything to stop violence… unless it benefits me."

"And the Hell of it is this," the li-tigon said, lips twitching, a little, to form themselves into a sad, slight, lopsided smile for a moment, "I don't even deserve to live—to fight to live. I'm… well, I'm like you, but worse. You, Dark One… you're righteous and pure. Salim told me this."

The liger nodded in acknowledgment, but didn't reply, as Freak continued.

"My grandfather was a tiger," the li-tigon said blankly, "but… my grandmother, and father, were lions. My mother was like you—half and half. But me… I'm closer to being a lion than she was, and yet…"

"And yet…"

"I'm not made for pride life," Freak said quietly, "I… I feel no desire to mate, and I can only… _brush_ against the emotions that my relatives feel when they work for their pride. Loyalty, kinship, affection, love… these words mean n—almost… practically nothing to me."

The Dark One was silent, for a spell, but so was Freak. Now was the time for prompting.

"Scar, my son…" Freak's eyes widened, a little, at that address, before he remembered what he'd told, feeling as if he was at death's door, to the Dark One the night before, "I understand, I think, much of what you say. But please… there is much you have yet to say, if I am correct, yes? Much on your mind and much in your soul, weighing you down, keeping you from peace, happiness…" the liger's voice trailed off. He turned his head, gazing, through shut eyelids, at Freak's flank.

The li-tigon canted his head, a little, before turning around to see what the Dark One was looking at. He kept his claws ready, of course, just in case.

The infection had been so bad that it had shocked Freak to consciousness the moment he'd registered it. Now, though, the full scope of the ailment really hit him.

It was a flesh-eating bug, or spore, that had attacked the li-tigon. How he'd allowed it to advance to such a stage was a mark of just how utterly _sick_ he'd felt towards himself over the past days.

Regardless… it seemed that the Dark One's care had saved Freak. The li-tigon tested his leg, and found that he could move it in most normal motions without pain. He hadn't lost any flesh, thankfully; the Dark One had gotten to him _just_ in time. His fur was a bit thinner, but still offered him camouflage and a reasonably decent shield against stingers, teeth, claws, and any other threats that might make an attempt at him.

Like the world itself…

"I'm a disease."

"I… I've caused, or enflamed, _two_ wars… that have each ended hundreds of lives."

"I have received real love, I think, but I can't find it in me to return it… though the one that gave it to me was so… so pure, so tender… so beautiful," Freak whispered, incapable of holding back the jab of nostalgia, guilt, and pain that was associated with Vitani.

"I have family, and, I think, my relatives love me, as well. But I… ran away from them, because I didn't have the guts to _make_ pride life work, even though I feel certain that I hurt them—a lot—by leaving."

"Why they would feel upset about being rid of an abomination like me is beyond my limited comprehension… but I hope you see how great they are."

"To let someone like me into their pride, into their hearts, even…"

"… After I ran from them, I went to my grandmother. I'd never seen her before, and the way she treated my mother…" Freak shook his head. "She changed, though. She… we didn't have nearly enough time together. But within minutes of meeting me, of finding out that her daughter lived, and had a cub… she… I can't begin to explain the way she looked at me. She was a harsh lioness, a warrior, but… when she looked at me, her face and heart softened even more than they did when she looked at her… soldiers."

The li-tigon gave a quiet, raspy scoff.

"My cubhood… was brutal—that doesn't excuse me from _anything_ that I've done, of course, but…"

"… I never played before. I never had anyone bathe me."

"My grandmother did both."

"And yet… I tore down her pride. I did. Me. One of her soldiers was killed because… of me. Because two of the others, or one of them… _thought_ that they loved me."

"The Great Spirits—the Gods of my fatherland—know of my sins. They must. That's how I got here: they exiled me. They… cast me out, vomited me, after a thousand attempts on my life failed."

"This land, this Hindustan…I don't know what to do here," Freak said hopelessly, "I… _suppose_ I should live, at least for a little, to find out how I can repent, in what remains of my life, for my sins. That's why I came to you—Salim told me that you might be able to help me."

For a heartbeat, the li-tigon's voice was hopeful. Coincidentally, or otherwise, the sun shone, just a little brighter, but then, a cloud rolled into the play, cloaking it. The forest floor was dark… as was any chance for Freak's spiritual well-being.

"I'm beyond help, though, I think."

The li-tigon's tone was almost peaceful—almost. He'd accepted his fate… but even for a being whose first memory was that of an attempt on his life by his _mother_, it was saddening.

"I mean… what...? What…"

"What can be done that can help me, Dark One? I'm so bad and full of sin. How can I be helped…?"

Freak broke off, and looked away. His profile, once noble, powerful, protecting and awe-inspiring for some, nauseating and dreadful for others, was now shrimpy, weak, almost hunchbacked. Years of collected agony, locked up and hidden from consciousness had now come crashing down on him all at once. If it wasn't for his growth spurt, Freak would have been the size of a cub… if he even lived.

The Dark One looked, analytically, intently, at the other hybrid. It wasn't just the look of a doctor; the liger had patched up Freak to the best of his ability—the li-tigon's body was safe, or would be, as soon as he got some food into it. For now, though, Freak's mind and soul were in terrible, terrible danger. And, for some reason, the liger felt that more than just Freak's safety was at risk now. Shrewdly, he deduced that this li-tigon had a purpose in life, a great purpose, that even he didn't know yet.

"My son?" the liger said suddenly, making Freak's eyes snap onto him, instead of focusing on other, even darker things, "…Tell me… your cubhood, my son. What was it like?"

"…Hard. Hard, and painful."

"Lonely," he added, almost as an afterthought.

The li-tigon suddenly didn't seem in the mood to talk. He'd gone from hungry for an outlet for the sad stories of his life to morose and brooding in a second.

"Ah… well, my son, you may not wish to tell me all that there is to tell right now. But that is very much all right," the Dark One said kindly, "I cannot help you on my terms, only… yours. So… we won't talk about your cubhood just now."

There was a pause, for a moment, as the darker, larger cat gathered his thoughts. Freak wasn't looking at him, and the expression on his face suggested that he didn't want to be spoken to. But the dampness in his eyes, and the slight, slight quivers of his lip suggested otherwise.

"Scar, my son, you seem to believe, for some reason, that your ancestry, your parentage, your mixed-species status… makes you undeserving of life."

"Well."

"Let me tell you, my son," the Dark One said, "that no matter what others say, no matter what they do, they are not acting logically or morally—they are acting out of fear. Cats like us—they are few and far between, even more so in recent years…"

"But we defy normality, you see. You know this, but, Scar…"

"Do _not_ confuse normality with nature. They are two very, very different things. Normality… it means nothing. That's my belief, and, my son, I shall admit some bias." The Dark One laughed, a little, in a deep, rumbling purr… that Freak only twitched at. The li-tigon didn't really have a sense of humor, so, the liger decided against using that tactic again.

There was a pause. The Dark One always chose his words carefully, but now, after seeing Freak's negative reaction to that… he had to re-evaluate his strategy, a little.

"Like me, I am sure that you have had people spit on your face and demand to know what right you have to exist."

Freak _almost_ looked to the liger, and that told the Dark One all he needed to know. To help Freak, he needed to leave emotion behind, and speak rationally, logically. It was sad that the li-tigon hadn't developed humor or emotion… but the Dark One knew that he could, perhaps, someday have them. To get to that eventual someday, though, Freak needed to be saved, first—with reason.

"The answer to that question, my son, is extremely simple."

"Beings like you and me," the Dark One said, purposefully slowly, so Freak turned, just a little, not facing the liger, but not quite staring in the other direction, either, "we are alive, yes? We feel pain, we have brains, feelings, hearts, and we breath and eat and need some things like all other beings, yes? So, we are alive."

"Why are we alive?"

A pause.

"I am not asking you to tell me our mission in life, my son. Not yet. But please answer me, O Scarred One… how did we come to be alive?"

Freak's head angled down a little. His brooding, striped, intent features were shadowed, not only by the forest overhead, but the li-tigon's fur and ruff. His eyes darted back and forth, back and forth, rapidly, mind whirring with energy as he thought…

_"The answer is extremely… simple?"_

"Because the Spirits intended, or allowed us, to be."

He'd said that without realizing it, and blinked, looking up, wondering if he really had spoken—he had.

The Dark One nodded, slowly, proudly, and then continued.

"That's right, my son. When our mothers carry us… we're defenseless. We're at the mercy of God, or, as you say, the Spirits, yes?... so, it follows that if we live, if we are born into the world… it is by the will of the divine."

_"Unless, of course, there are more powers that control our world than those above it…"_

"So, my son, we are here due to as much of God's will as any others are. Why, then, do we deserve less?"

Silence.

Freak really was a stunningly exotic being. His features were, regardless of his position in the world, practically supernatural. He was large, and his thick, plush fur could, no doubt, hold and protect any number of pride members, females, cubs…

Despite the loss of muscle and meat due to his fast, he still was reasonably strong. He could, probably, fight off most of Hindustan's beasts, and, once fed properly and healthy, he'd be nigh untouchable.

If it wasn't for the scar on his eye and the sulking, sad way he carried himself, even now, he might have looked like an angel.

"We don't."

"God put us here to live, yes?" the Dark One said warmly, "So, of course, we have the same rights to exist as all others do. We do not seek for special treatment, wonder, awe, fame… no. But we do deserve respect and tolerance, my son. All do. It's not so very much to ask to be left to live in peace, yes? Violence, my son, cannot be justified against us… as we have done no wrong…"

Finally, Freak turned towards the Dark One. His eyes were full of guilt and moisture, and his heart was full of shame. But the li-tigon no longer felt depression and hopelessness ebbing away at him, at his will and ability to live.

Maybe he wasn't beyond help, after all.

There was silence, for a moment. Then… Freak spoke.

He spoke for a long, long time, hardly stopping. The Dark One was silent, and only periodically nodded, encouragingly, keeping his eyes shut, as if meditating while the li-tigon told him… everything.

Everything.

Every one of his sins, or, at least, every one that he could remember. Every emotion he'd felt, every being that he'd ever cared about or had cared about him, everything.

Freak had been with friends, before, he admitted. But never before had he… so completely set the cards on the table. Every fiber of the li-tigon's being had been exposed for scrutiny and healing… and when he finished; throat, lips and tongue sore, he looked down.

The ground was still damp from the rain of just hours ago. But the slight, tight grouping of wet dots in front of Freak's paws said that Salim was right—he didn't express emotion with his face, very much. He did so with his eyes.

It had been the longest talk Freak had had with anyone, ever. Every detail of his life—and the events leading up to it—were now in the possession of the Dark One. The li-tigon felt a spike of worry, of suspicion, prick him, but he was too tired to act on it. Whatever happened next… he didn't care. He'd be helped, or he'd be harmed. It didn't matter to Freak… he was just too tired to go on alone. He needed help, and if he didn't receive it… death would _not_ be a bad fate, at all.

It was starting to get a little hot, as midday approached. Freak wasn't uncomfortable, though, his coat offered protection from the elements. Sunlight, even here in the shaded forest floor, was present.

The Dark One had been still for a few moments, now, but for Freak, it felt like a lot longer. He was just sitting there, watching, thinking, presumably. The liger's fur was surprisingly shiny, in the Hindustani sun, despite his obvious age.

_"I wonder… if I live to be that old, what… will I have accomplished, with my life? What will I have built, besides hatred…?"_

"My son."

Freak's eyes snapped to the Dark One. In the strange lighting, the younger cat's stripes were strikingly visible—the rest of his fur blended into the forest, so it almost looked like a series of curved, vertical gashes had been ripped into the forest.

"First, I would like to thank you, very much, for being so very honest with me. I appreciate that very much, O Scarred One."

Freak nodded, a little, his eyes glazed and unfocused. His hunger was starting to return, but he needed—he _needed_ to hear the Dark One's words. They were, probably, his final chance at a fate besides Hell.

The liger opened his mouth, a little, but paused, and licked his lips. He had so much to say… but where to start?

"… I don't believe, my son, that what you told me earlier is true…"

"… At all."

Freak's face tightened, a little. The Dark One had just praised him for honesty… but now, it seemed, he'd lied, before? But before the li-tigon could speak, though, even if he wanted to, the liger did.

"You said, O Scar, that you are a violent being; that you cause pain and death in, you words were, I think, in magnitudes beyond imagination."

"This is not true, my son. At least, not entirely."

Another brief pause. For his part, Freak wasn't entirely sure that the Dark One truly understood his speech. How could he, if he'd heard that soliloquy, then gone on to say that Freak _didn't_ cause pain and death to such a grotesque, unearthly degree?

"My son, you have made mistakes," the liger said gently, "But I do not have any reason to believe that you often act in malice. After beloved Vitani died…" Freak felt a pang of regret for not capitalizing on what would surely be his only chance at love, "you were angry, my son. What you did after that… was unfortunate."

"But let us be fair, my son," the Dark One said in a slightly louder tone, so that Freak's mind couldn't wander to undesirable places, "they were only plants. What you did was wrong… but it was not so very wrong. You feel regret for it, I can tell… so. What can you do now, but take wisdom from that experience, and move on?"

"And, O Scarred One, I feel very strongly that this is what you have been doing, for many years, without even realizing it."

"You learned the hard way, as I did, that there is no one that wants to help a so-called freak."

Freak noted that he was fairly certain that he'd revealed his "true" name to the Dark One, sometime along the course of his spoken autobiography. And yet… the liger seemed adamant on referring to him as "Scar" or "Scarred One".

"But my _son_," the Dark One said, power and charisma suddenly entering his voice, making Freak's ears angle themselves, just so, to pick up every syllable of the liger's words, "your stories have told me something, something very important. Something so important that it is my belief, in fact, that it is the… _pinnacle_, the purpose, of all life."

"My son, you have been scarred and battered. Sun and Earth and water and fire have tested you; it almost seems, my son, that the elements of this Land of Spirits have come together to try to make you stop… living, yes. But it also seems, my son, that they have tried to make you stop doing something even more important than living…"

Silence.

The forest.

The nearby water.

The li-tigon.

The liger.

Silence.

Freak didn't answer. His lips twitched, a little, and he almost gave one of his cold, pragmatic, robotic, unfeeling responses.

_"There is nothing more important than living."_

"My son… no matter what life has thrown towards you, you... have… never, once, given up in your efforts to do right."

"Moments of passion and sadness have shaken your resolve," the liger admitted, nodding, a little, "But, O Scarred One, you have never once legitimately attempted to do evil. Out of naivety and fear, you have, on occasion, allowed evil and violence to occur, but, O Scar, none are perfect."

"Naturally."

"None of us are born perfect…"

"But, my son," the Dark One said, with rising emotion and conviction, making Freak sit up, a little, his dark eyes widening to drink in every detail of what might very well be his life's crossroad, "you were born to do not only good things, but, I am certain, great things."

"You have survived _insurmountable_ odds, my son. If anyone but you, O Scar, were to tell me that they fought an entire clan of these hyenas, or defeated a serpent so large before your first year passed, I would have laughed and called them a braggart. Quite simply, my son, you are a one-man army."

The li-tigon's spirits weren't raised by such praise, much. He didn't seem his huge capacity to cause death and destruction as something to extol...

His vision blurred, a little, and Freak blinked, rapidly, trying to clear it. The li-tigon wondered if he was going insane, or if this was some new type of attack… but then, he realized that he was hungry.

Too bad. The Dark One's words were more important—but shit! He'd missed some…

"… virtues, my son, that we all must hold dear. Among them are: respect for all forms of life, O Scar, compassion, a willingness to carry out and institute justice, and duty towards one's kin."

"I once heard a very foreign saying, O Scarred One. It's about kinship…"

"Good people draw a circle around them, and place inside it their mate and their cubs. Great people draw larger circles, including their siblings, parents, and other relations. But some people... have circles that include many."

Freak twitched, a little, and despite his still-shut eyes, the Dark One noticed, and smiled, tilting his head, a little bit.

"Aré, O Scarred One… could it be that you have already heard this saying?"

The li-tigon was still, for a moment… then nodded, a little, rapidly. The liger seemed to understand, as Freak spoke.

"Yes, my… …father… said that to me… a long, long time ago."

To be fair, it hadn't been really _that_ long ago when Freak had brought the Pride Landers to the Jungle, to teach and train them and to forge them into counterassassins. But since then, so much had happened, so much had changed, so many had died…

"Ah, _shabosh_, my son! So, you see, there are many paths to enlightenment, thousands of them, everywhere… with brothers and sisters, O Scarred One, to be found on any of them."

"… Your father, my son… you never met him in life," the Dark One said, "And yet, he was as important to your creation as your mother."

"Tell me, my son… what does your father mean to you?"

There was a pause as Freak collected his thoughts. His father… he'd never really thought about him, before. Not really. He'd struggled with himself before, over his true feelings towards his mother, who had, after all, tried to wipe him off the planet before he'd been alive for a minute…

But his father…

Scar, Freak knew, had killed Mufasa, and tried to do the same to Simba. And yet… yet…

If Scar was in Heaven, which he was, his sins couldn't have been unforgiveable. He couldn't really have done nothing more than launched a coup on his family, his own blood, if they really deserved power. Things couldn't have been as simple as they'd seemed in the movies—in Simba's portrayal of events.

"I… I don't know. …Scar… I've taken his name as mine, I suppose, since Salim told me never to refer to myself by my true name around him."

"… I don't think it was simple coincidence," Freak said, as the Dark One nodded slowly, encouragingly, "that Salim named me Scar. So… there must be something about my father, something that we share."

"Maybe it's because I'm not a lion, and he didn't want to be, or maybe it's because of our matching scars," the li-tigon said, "or maybe it's something else."

"I don't know."

A pause.

The Dark One was about to speak… but then Freak did. Not so much to the liger as to himself; the way his head tilted into the air, angling up with hope and even pride, the way his voice was soft but powerful and confident… no. Freak was speaking to himself, affirming what he should have long ago.

"But whatever it is… …it's… refreshing, in a way, to think that his blood runs in my veins, that he lives in me. I know that he wasn't a perfect being, at all, but he's still my father. …I'm… grateful to him, as I am to my grandfather… …They… did evil. And yet… I was born… …out of evil…"

The li-tigon's face fell. Again… logic had let him not to understanding and enlightenment, but darkness. He was born to evil, and, time and again, he'd nearly died to evil…

The Dark One spoke in a relatively flat tone, now.

"What you say, O Scar, is very true. Very true… but, I think, the conclusions you are reaching from it are not so true."

"There is, I think, something very powerful about acknowledging your roots; the greatness that flows from ancestors to live in you. But, my son, know this, and know it well."

"You are, O Scarred One, in no way responsible for the actions of your ancestors—for the good ones, and the evil ones."

"What matters, my son," the Dark one said, with a set, serious face, "is what _we_ do with the time and life we have. Take pride in your blood, and learn lessons from the actions and deeds of your ancestors… but be your own person. Control your life and your actions, and _never_ feel bad about who… or, my son, what… you are."

The li-tigon didn't seem to be listening. His eyes weren't entirely focused, and his face wasn't angled, exactly, towards the Dark One's. The liger wasn't offended, but he was a little confused. Freak was a serious, focused cat… why was he now—

Freak stumbled, but, before he could fall, the Dark One was there. The li-tigon blinked, a little, shifting, feeling the powerful liger heft a good portion of his weight, accepting it.

_"He's a freak, too…"_

_"…Maybe, even in Hindustan…"_

_"I'm not alone…"_

"Ah, my son, please forgive me…" the Dark One said mournfully, as he half-carried Freak to the west, towards the waterfall, "I tended to your wounds, and, due to the urgency of your spiritual health, I tended to that, too. But, O Scar, I do not think I am wrong in saying that you haven't eaten for far too long."

The li-tigon nodded, and attempted to squirm off of the older cat, to walk on his own four feet. He was unsuccessful, though, and was taken back to the waterfall where he and the liger had met.

"Stay here, my son," the Dark One said, gently, tenderly laying Freak down in the shallow pool, "I will be back to you, very soon, with food. There are no men here, my son, usually, and few other dangerous animals; you should be safe. But if you need me," the liger said, backing away, his dark fur enabling to practically vanish in Freak's eyes, "do not hesitate to call."

The Dark One turned, and began to lope off. But, as he did, the li-tigon heard his voice, or he thought he did… in his head.

_"I am here for you."_

Eyes shut, Freak sat, head raised. The sparkling, clear water cleansed him, it felt like, and so, he didn't feel overcome by hunger. Even his infection ceased to irk him, and the dozens of other injuries seemed to open, allowing the purifying liquid to rush through them, carrying away poison and impurity.

The li-tigon was hidden, rather well, against the small, paw-sized rocks that filtered the water before it careened to the valley far, far below. The dark overlay of his mane did well to break up his tan-orange fur. Aside from his mixed features and telltale stripes… he looked like he belonged there, just there, at the top of that Hindustani waterfall, gazing down upon the land around him; watching over it.

Suddenly, Freak's eyes shot open.

"The Dark One said that he doesn't believe in violence."

"So, of course, he won't bring me food obtained through violence—that would be hypocritical. He has…"

"…an alternative food source?... he must. He must… he wouldn't eat meat; he wouldn't kill to do it."

The li-tigon smiled, just a little, feeling enthusiastic energy reluctantly enter him. His coat hung loose over him, but in other places, it was starting to get a pinched appearance… he really did need food, and soon.

"Food, life… without killing…"

"Hungry, my son?" said a now-familiar voice perpendicular to the stream that led to the misty falls, "That's good. This meal is a large one…"

Freak stood, turning, to face the Dark One. But then, his face, containing interest and hope a moment ago, began to fall, filling with confusion… and revulsion.

The liger was a great hunter, he really was. He hadn't left Freak for more than ten minutes, but already, he was back, as he said, with a large meal.

The li-tigon stood, in shocked silence, that the liger—whose eyes were still shut—didn't notice. Instead, he continued to drag his kill, a large, fat water buffalo into the stream. As the animal's neck, cut open in what appeared to be a single, remarkably powerful killing blow, met the water, blood poured into the stream, carried to the falls, before turning into airborne, pink mist…

The animal's eyes were closed. It had at least been done that dignity. Freak shuddered, but remained frozen, like a deer in the headlights, as the liger continued to pull the kill towards him.

The li-tigon felt no hunger, as he looked, incredible sadness and sympathy on his face, at the defenseless herbivore. It occurred to him that until then, he'd never taken the time of day to appreciate animals that could feed him. He'd never before shown real respect, real humility, towards his prey…

That was now dead…

"… Is something wrong, my son…?" the Dark One said eventually. He was positioned at the far side of the buffalo, a controlling paw on the animal's side, as he looked, through shut eyes, with his head cocked, at Freak.

"Are you, perhaps, allergic to this kind of meat? Or—"

"No. No, I'm not allergic to that meat, or any."

The li-tigon was on his feet. His eyes were flashing with anger, and his heart pounded, making blood and adrenaline rush through his system. He was snarling, a little, but the Dark One merely looked on, head tilted, fur as dark as his kill's, waiting for Freak to speak again.

A pause. Water flowed over and around Freak's paws, the Dark One's paws… and the dead buffalo's body. There was no blood left in it; at least, not enough to show in the transparent, rushing liquid.

"You… _said_ that you don't believe in violence. That we should respect all life."

Rapidly, Freak's voice was becoming thinner, quicker, more robotic. Eyes tight and mistrustful, he hissed, exhaling, for a long moment, before continuing.

"That can't be true. How can you value life while eating meat? How can you use violence when you don't believe in violence?"

"Well, my son—" the Dark One tried to cut in, to stop Freak from getting _too_ worked up, he was still in poor health… and, at the very edge of a waterfall.

"NO! You might be a liar and a hypocrite; you might not practice what you preach, but I'm different. I can't eat that revolting… that… _garbage_… obtained through evil—violence. I won't—I'd rather die."

Silence, for a moment. The Dark One's face was clear and understanding, as he remained still, so as to not excite the li-tigon. He tried to continue, but Freak spoke again.

"Do you understand me? I'd rather die than eat meat. I'm not lying," the li-tigon said, all emotion and conviction leaving his voice, making it husky, low, heavy, monotonous, "I swear on my mother, I'm not. Don't try to make me eat meat, Dark One. Salim… I've had enough. I really have. I'm tired, I'm sick, I don't want any more violence or pain. I'm done…"

Freak turned, almost facing the waterfall. The fall, he noted vaguely, might be… satisfying. The Dark One sensed that thought, and shifted, a little, preparing to pounce on the li-tigon, if necessary, and pin him.

But Freak didn't jump. He just sat, dejected and confused and in need of guidance, waiting… waiting for the Dark One to try and save him…

Or fail…

"I've been blind to the evil I've been doing my whole life until now. But now that my eyes are open…" Freak said, turning to cock his head at the Dark One without a hint of feeling on his face or in his voice, "How can I shut them again? How can I, Dark One…?"

Silence, for a moment—relative silence. The soft _whoosh_ of the waterfall, as it spilled over the cliff's edge to create mist and a powerful, streaming flow was audible, as were the occasional, distant calls of Hindustani songbirds. Out in the open, as the two cats were, it was bright and hot and sunny, for most of the year. But now, as the Season of the Rains prepared to let loose its true power, cloud cover created dappled shade over them, even as the sun attempted to sear through the puffy, white collections of vapor.

The Dark One smiled, a little. Freak felt any sense of hope he might have retained leave, and prepared to—not jump—but… let loose, relax, allowing fate to take over, and cast him over the falls, into whatever lay beyond…

But the liger cleared his throat, so the younger cat looked up, slowly, looking at the older male.

There was another brief pause… and then the Dark One opened his eyes.

Freak looked at the other cat… and empty sockets looked back at him.

"I was only alive for four months when my world went dark."

* * *

I was abandoned, my son, just after my mother gave birth again. I don't remember things very well, because I was a sickly cub. Who my father is and why my mother treated his cubs as she did is a mystery that will not be solved, O Scar, but it doesn't matter.

You know how hard it is to look after yourself, my son, even better than I do. For me, at least, my mother hunted and cared for for some months. But when she left, I was still sick…

You know, Scarred One, that it's hard to raise yourself.

Well… I had not only myself to raise… but my twin sisters, also.

Ah, my son... you had a sister, yes? You've been around females, yes? Then, you should understand this better than I do.

There's just something about them… that's incredibly soft…

Not just their bodies, of course. But to be around them, to relax and sleep amongst females, to be near them… ah, my son, it's an experience I have missed every day, since…

…They, like me, were neither lions nor tigers—of this I am certain. They were not sick, but they were young, my son, too young to hunt and look after themselves. So, of course, I had to look after them.

It was a hard job, my son.

* * *

There were benefits, of course. There was nothing finer than coming to them, to see their happy faces, to feel their heads rub against me before we would, together, as siblings, sit down, and, together, eat.

But, Scarred One, I was young, and I was a fool.

I had no patience for them when I came back without a kill. They were not whiney, O Scar, but they were too young to keep their mouths totally shut when they were hungry.

And so, one day…

…

I… I'll never forget what happened. Do not ask me to repeat what I said to them or what prompted it. But…

… I… ran…

I ran very far, very quickly—they could not hope to keep up, O Scarred One. Rage, bitterness, and resentment—not just at them, I think, but at my mother, my father, the world, and God—were on my face… and in my heart.

But even then…

I can't forget their faces, my son, or their voices, as they cried out after me.

"Brother!" they called, over and over, "Brother, please, come back, dear brother! Please… we are sorry, dear brother. Please, don't leave us, we'll be good! Brother!…"

Brother…

…

And yet, my son, I didn't stop running until sunset that day. My heart and lungs were still pumping, and anger still sang through my veins. I remember—I roared, my son, and walked around, striking at anything that got too close. I remember all this, my son, but no matter how hard I try, I cannot remember feeling any desire to go back to them…

O Scar, I don't think you can understand this. But to know that you left a face under your responsibility, that loved you, that you l—_should_… have loved… to know that you left it with such terror, such sadness, for the last time…

…I never saw my sisters again, my son. As my mother did to me… I abandoned them.

I didn't act only in passion, my son, I thought and I continued that terrible, terrible act.

_"They might try to follow me,"_ I thought, _"So, I should keep moving. Then, they'll never catch me up—I 'll never see them, never hear their cries again! …Good riddance..."_

So, Scar, I kept walking.

I think, eventually, my anger dulled. I believe I felt sick, or off balance, my son, so my level of awareness was not high.

What happened next, my son… I am not sure, entirely, whether it was an action of nature or God. Though I suppose that it does not matter. But I'll continue.

I was walking along, just walking; thinking, a little, about masking my scent so that they could not follow me. I was quite far from the Triangle of Pain, my son…

But I was attacked, O Scar.

By men.

They jumped on me, perhaps as few as three of them or as many as six of them. I had no chance, my son; I had not been eating enough for a growing cub, and, as you can see, I am a _pahlawan_—a big guy. I had also been running and then walking for hours—I could do nothing but shout and cry as they held me down.

They hit me, my son, and made me eat dirt. What they shouted at me, so loudly that my hearing was out for some days after the encounter I do not know; it was not in the tongue that men here use.

Perhaps what they did to me was in revenge for the action of some man-killer, I do not know.

Perhaps it was random, my son, or, as I said, divine.

But, my son, whatever it was… it's how my world went dark.

You see, O Scar, this is what they did. All but one of them held me down, back down, on the ground. They had a flashlight lit, to help them see what they were doing. The man that was up… he moved towards me, and, with his fingers, held my eyes open…

… You lived near volcanoes, my son. So, you know something about fire, I think.

What I felt… what they poured into my eyes…

It wasn't fire. I do not think it was fire.

It was liquid, Scar, for it flowed and dripped, but it was _not_ water.

Because, my son, it _burned_. Oh, how it burned! I cried, in agony, and begged, too, as they poured that fire-liquid into one eye… then the other.

Perhaps they thought I was dead, or perhaps they intended for me to die of my injuries—they were many. My chest, my paws, my face… they took my vision, my son, and left me with many broken bones instead.

But I lived, my son, and, obviously, not just for a few minutes or days.

I had to relearn everything—I do not think that someone whole, like you, can understand it. But… hunting, tracking, even things so basic as walking…

I had to learn to do it all again.

Alone…

As you can imagine, my son, I was very angry for quite some time. I committed my share of sins—in revenge for what the world did to me, I struck back at the world. I killed more than I could eat, I tortured, I maimed almost as badly as I had been maimed…

But then, O Scar, I started to think. Not just about what to do, now that I was fairly certain that I could live with my darkness—I started to really, deeply think, my son, as I believe you have just recently.

Things changed, my son, very quickly. I righted what wrongs I had committed, or tried to; I did good whenever I had the opportunity to do so …

But still, I felt no security or peace.

I tried not to think about them as much as I could, my son, but… … even to this day, the biggest sin I committed—the abandonment of my sisters—Scar, it haunts me.

So, after some thinking, I stopped eating meat.

As I starved, my son, meditating for days at this very waterfall… I thought even more.

What I achieved, my son, is—I cannot conceal its magnitude with modesty—incredible.

Enlightenment.

_True_ enlightenment, my son.

Not only did the world start to make sense; its confusion and chaos becoming order… but, O Scarred One, I found that I could make sense of communication, of other lands and creatures and beings, even. It's as if many arrows point to the same goal, my son—you will learn this, I think, soon…

My meditation, fasting, and suffering finished, I rejoined the world as a stronger, better man. Of course I continued to do good when given the opportunity, but I stopped _just_ trying to do physical good. Why I did this, my son, is, I think, shown by your situation. Physical health is nice… but spiritual health is a thousand times as important.

I believe I've made some progress for Hindustan by caring for both the physical and the spiritual needs of its creatures.

But back to the topic at hand, O Scar…

"My son," the Dark One said, finally shutting his eyes, "you must accept this—there is no avoiding it. On one level, or another, most everything is wrong…"

Freak showed no reaction. In fact, he hadn't shown any reaction at all to the liger's entire speech.

"Scar, life is hard. I do not know what impression you got of me from Salim, but know this: I am not perfect."

The liger's words were simple, curt, and clear. His tone was serious, and he continued to look, through closed eyes, at Freak, as if daring the li-tigon to look away again.

"I am not perfect, my son; no one is. We can attempt to be perfect, and do much good in the effort, but we must accept that we are not—and, possibly, can never be—truly flawless."

"But, my son, we are predators. There is no getting around this; trust me when I say that I have tried."

"And, O Scarred One, as I explained before, we are here to live, because God put us here, yes? And if God, or the Spirits, however you would like to call them, put us here as predators… my son, what can we do but be predators? What good can we do by starving to death, depriving future generations of lives that they have a right to…?"

Another brief pause.

"My son, it is my belief—it may be wrong, O Scar, so take it for what it' worth—but I believe that if we kill without malice, without causing undue suffering, and if we respect our prey as much as possible… I believe that if all those conditions are met, then, there is no grievous wrong in eating meat… in acting as we were created to act."

Another pause, a longer one. Freak's mind had numbed, to protect it from the Dark One's tale, but, slowly, full consciousness and cognition returned. The li-tigon's lips peeled back, a little, as he prepared to snarl, and deliver a one or two word rebuttal to the Dark One's story and the conclusions he'd drawn from it.

But then… Freak's will changed. He didn't growl, and, slowly, his lips returned to their original position, covering his teeth.

Water continued to rush over his paws, and the liger's, as the two cats looked at one another. All around them, the Hindustani wilderness was silent yet alive, as if watching, waiting, to see what Freak would do.

For quite some time, the li-tigon did nothing. His face was blank and his posture passive-assertive, but he didn't seem to be on the verge of talking, much less acting.

Silence…

The Dark One opened his mouth, a little, so that a soft _pop_ as the pressure inside his lips and out of them equalized was head—the liger had, unwittingly, been holding his breath. After all… what Freak did now, whether he accepted or rejected the older male's philosophy would plot a new path not just for his life, but, unknown to him, the lives and fates of _all_ of the Spirits' Land.

The liger considered his words carefully, toying with a fang with the tip of his tongue, before speaking in a soft, warm, inviting tone.

"Our meal is getting cold, my son. Come… eat…"

For a long time, a very long time, the Dark One felt certain that he had failed. He felt certain, entirely certain, that the li-tigon would curse him, and run, perhaps off the waterfall. The liger forced himself to relax, though, and smile, bowing his head, a little, to nudge the water buffalo's fallen form with his nose, welcoming Freak to nourish himself. He prayed a little, too, and, in the end, that might have been what made the difference.

Slowly, reluctantly, questioning himself every step of the way…

Freak approached…

His eyes were downcast and his paws were heavy, but regardless, he approached.

Careful to bite back slowly rising anticipation, the Dark One nodded, slowly, proudly, as, with Freak, he lowered himself.

The li-tigon's thoughts raced by his mind, rapidly, waning in and out of existence too quickly to leave any traces behind. He closed his eyes, swallowed at the dryness in his throat, and attempted to calm, and make sense of things.

He wasn't successful—but he wasn't divine. Things never would, and never could, make total sense.

And yet… the Dark One's words had penetrated past Freak's sharp claws, jaws, and mind.

Slowly, quivering, the li-tigon's mouth opened. The older male nodded, and then, went out of view, as Freak leaned in. He could hear the Dark One's jaws working, digging into the buffalo.

His mouth was watering, and his teeth and tongue were pressed against the kill's hide. It took everything Freak had, and then some, to control his feral instincts, to think, to force himself to really consider whether or not this was acceptable.

In the end, the li-tigon pressed his head forward, just a little, eyes shut in sorrow, as he thanked the buffalo for giving up its life for him.

Blood again dyed the water pinkish-red as the Freak's jaws shut, neatly slicing off a small chunk of flesh.

He paused, thinking, leaving his eyes shut as he chewed… then swallowed.

The Dark One stopped eating, for a moment, and concentrated, ensuring that Freak was alright. His brow furrowed, for a moment, as he tried to make sense of the l-tigon's very confused thoughts, until one broke free of the confusion and chaos,

Freak licked his lips, then his teeth. The Dark One's ears perked, suddenly, and he almost stood—Freak was short of breath…

But then, after a tense moment, the li-tigon let out a deep, rumbling purr, almost a moan, of enjoyment, and delved back into the meat.

It was the sweetest he'd ever tasted.

* * *

"Father?"

"Yes, daughter?"

"I have a question, Father… Why are you not religious, when Mother is?"

The male stopped, and, a heartbeat later, the two females followed suit. The white tigress, his mate, looked to the right, as he stepped forward, a little, sniffing into the air, concentrating—they were still very close to the Triangle of Pain, and now, just before the Season of the Rains hit in full force, the Banghar Clan's activity was at a maximum.

The Hindustan they knew, just then, was cool and misty. Visibility was low, but tigers were not creatures that relied solely on their eyes—in dense jungles, eyes could only see so far.

The two adults' ears swiveled back and forth… then relaxed. They were safe, at least, for the next few minutes.

A pause followed before they started to walk again.

"Well, you see, Kochai," the old tiger said, turning his head, then jerking it, smiling, so that his daughter loped over to travel in between him and his mate, "religion is useless."

The golden tabby cub blinked, then looked to her white-furred mother. The tigress had rolled her eyes, and turned, making a groaning sound of dissent in her throat. Another logic versus spirituality argument…?

The twelve soft paws made little noise as they padded through the foggy, silent jungle. The Season of the Rains, this year, seemed to be starting erratically, slowly, gradually, instead of all at once. In a way, that was good; they could cover more ground. But the flipside was that they had no idea when the months-long storm that defined the Season of the Rains would strike—they had to be wary and cautious and on their toes 24/7; and it didn't help that they weren't on home turf.

"For instance, daughter, your mother believes in karma, yes? The belief that somehow, you will reap what you sow, that all actions are repaid in kind, be they good or evil?" the old tiger said, glancing up from his daughter to wink at his mate, asking her to humor him for a moment.

Reluctantly, the tigress sighed, shrugging, but shook her head, her expression downcast. Her blue eyes were sad as they faced the trail ahead—her husband _tolerated_ her faith, in a way… but to drag it through the mud in front of their daughter… it upset her. It hurt her.

"That belief, Kochai, is false. I'll demonstrate… ah, you see this bug, this beetle, in my path?" the tiger said, after a moment of scanning the ground with his walnut-colored eyes.

The kitten walked on her tippy-toes, for a moment, to try to follow her father's gaze. She frowned, for a moment, spoiling otherwise soft, innocent features.... then nodded, smiling, as she picked up the large insect.

"Mhmm, mhmm! Yes, Father, I see it… why, Father? What are you doing—"

The group came to a halt; all dozen paws firmly on the ground. Kochai's ears flattened, though, as she winced, turning away, then stepping away, closer to her mother.

Nasher's paw had come down on the beetle, crushing and killing it… for no reason at all. Or, so the young, innocent, naïve tigress thought.

Careful to keep emotion out of his voice, Nasher looked at his daughter, peering through the mist that had collected around her, until he saw those two small, bright green orbs look back at him.

"Tell me, daughter… am I dead?"

"Am I being harmed?"

"Am I in even the slightest amount of danger for what I did?"

On the final sentence, the tiger scoffed, a little, looking skyward for a split-second, ridiculing his own question—the answer was obvious.

"Well… …No, Father… you are not."

The tiger nodded, a little… but then, hit a slight brick wall. What to say now?... fortunately, though, his daughter kept speaking, as she walked on, forward, away from her parents, using nothing but hope, innocence, and a sense of adventure to guide her through the mist. Her steps, though, were a little shaky, a little unstable… she was a carnivore, a meat-eater, and, yes, she had already killed small mice and reptiles for herself.

But what her father did… disquieted her. It made her flesh crawl under her skin, because she knew, somehow, that _it was wrong_.

"Father, you have not come to harm, and thank God for that. But… I swear, Father, that I'll never, ever, ever kill… unless I have to."

For such a young cub, that was quite a statement. It displayed maturity, it really did, because Nasher and Asal knew, deep in their hearts, that their daughter would honor that statement, that oath, for the rest of her days.

The kitten spoiled the moment, sort of, just then, by turning, giggling, before scampering off.

"Now, come on, please? This is so exciting—the Triangle of Pain! How many tigers as young as I have ever been so close to here? Come on, Father! Come on, Mother! Let's explore!" she laughed, before running off, well out of earshot.

Nasher exhaled heavily, willfully ignoring his mate. He smiled a little, though, sadly, as he stepped forward, never taking his mind off of his daughter.

"I swear, Asal, that child isn't serious enough. If that's not the death of me, it'll be the death of her—"

"Ah, ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!" the white tigress said, suddenly, looking, intently, at where her mate's paw had just left the ground.

The imprint it left behind suggested that he'd put his weight, somehow, on only the pads of his digits, creating a safe sort of shelter under the heel of his paw… a space just big enough for a frightened insect to take cover in, then leave, hastily, as the huge, furry weight lifted away.

Asal smiled, widely, shaking her head, as the insect hightailed it to cover. Her blue eyes traveled to her husband, as he walked on, a little miffed at her discovery of his secret. The tiger faced forward, scowling in upset embarrassment… until the tigress stepped closer to him, then rubbed the smooth, soft bluntness of her head against his shoulder.

"Ah, Nasher… you are strong, you are smart, you are wise…" she murmured, licking, gently, at the tiger's cheek, before bringing her lips to his ear to whisper softly, sensuously, before pulling away.

"You are also a hypocrite."

The tiger felt warmth leave his thickly-furred neck as his mate drew away. He walked along, for a moment, in silence, until he could trust himself to speak seriously, without embarrassment or uncertainty in his voice—it was hard. He was blessed with a very affectionate, very beautiful wife.

He sighed, for a moment, peering into the mists, listening, too. Asal was similarly intent, but was still smiling, victoriously, giving coy, triumphant looks at her husband from time to time.

"Asal…" he started, before pausing, again, until he felt the female's icy eyes on his wiry, stern form, "I think you do not understand what I did completely. It brings me great pain to teach our daughter to be harsh, to teach her to abandon her spirit to protect her life."

"But, wife, that's how things have to be now. We—I mean, tigers, all Hindustani tigers—are facing an existential threat, Asal. You know it," he said, turning, a little, so that his brown eyes flickered to the female's sleek, white form.

The two adult cats walked together, in silence, for a moment. Their graceful motions caused the fog all around them to part as they moved on, eastward. Kochai was, now, neither audible nor visible, but Nasher bit back his worry, for the moment.

"We must raise our daughter harshly," the tiger said coldly, "we must teach her to be harsh. Because, Asal, as much as I would love for things to be different… any reluctance, on her part, to be harsh… will kill her."

The white tigress was silent. She looked forward, pink nose twitching, periodically, as she swallowed her pride, and a veritable volley of retorts. There was, as much as she hated to acknowledge it, as much as the concept disgusted her, validity to her husband's words—after all, spirituality could only ever exist if life existed first.

Nasher didn't press his wife for a reply; there was no utility in doing so. She understood the gravity of the situation, and he didn't even like the necessity of his actions in the first place—there was no use, no good that could come from rubbing the sense in his harsh actions into her face.

"I wonder where Kochai is…?"

There was a trail, sort of, a vague path in which fewer plants grew. Almost picturesquely, it was flanked by large tufts of grass and saplings and bushes, all embraced by smoky wisps of fog.

From behind one of those plants, or something else entirely; the adults would never know, for sure, their daughter appeared.

Both tigers jumped, a little, eyes widening, tails becoming bushy and erratic, until, seconds later, they calmed, and tried to get their fur to stop sticking out, to stop betraying their surprise.

The young tigress saw past those reparatory motions, though, and giggled, before sliding under her mother, positioning herself in between the couple. Asal and Nasher shared a glance, broke eye contact, and continued on, in silence for a moment, before their daughter spoke.

"What does 'hypocrite' mean?"

* * *

The mist had cleared, and with it, cloud cover. It would have been bright but for the tall, tropical trees that shaded the ground below, and the fact that it was very nearly sunset. On the horizon, the great orange orb of the Sun slowly sank. Numerous, hardly defined shades of tangerine, red, purple striped the sky in bands, attempting to escape the Sun's pull on the colors of the sky.

The family had made good progress, walking for almost the entire day. But they'd done so on nearly empty bellies, and it had been some time since they'd had a really proper meal. They were ravenous.

Kochai was very well disciplined and behaved, though, and only complained, softly, to her mother from time to time. Nasher was as patient as a male tiger could be… but he was still a male tiger, and thus, had almost no patience for his daughter when she was cranky.

Still, though, for creatures born and bred for solitary lives, the family was getting along astoundingly well. No sharp words or blows had been exchanged the entire trip, and, in fact, they even felt… good… about being around each another. Maybe this wasn't so unnatural.

As rapidly dimming orange light warmed the ground below, Nasher began to formulate plans for the night. They'd all nap, of course, for at least a few hours. After that, thought…

_"Asal will stay with Kochai, get some more sleep, and I'll hunt for them. Then, we'll eat together, as a family, and sleep until late tomorrow morning. Then we'll be off, again… to wherever we're going…"_

_"…Asal, Asal, Asal… the Triangle of Pain, of all places. And why? I hope that you'll fulfill your promise and that, someday, I'll find out."_

The tiger suddenly froze in his tracks. His bronzed eyes widened, for a moment, as his wife and daughter, chittering, innocently, about how great it would be to sink their long, clean teeth into food when it came, passed him, walking ahead.

"Oi, oi! Aré! Silence, please!" the tiger said, suddenly, quite annoyed. His voice wasn't loud, but there was caustic intensity in it, and his face, which the females saw as their heads snapped towards him, was irritated, and intent. Something was going on.

So they nodded, complied, and took his side. Even Kochai, for once, did as she ought to, and clung to her father's protective form. Asal sidestepped, a little, peeling her lips back, raising her white head, a little, to sniff into the air, preparing a threatening snarl. Nasher would _never_ grow angry so suddenly and without provocation—unless he was, underneath it all, worried, concerned for his family… or scared.

The females sensed nothing, physically. Asal shivered, though, feeling danger, foreboding, and calmed, slowly, so that her pale blue eyes darkened, a little, their dilations slowing with her breathing.

As Hindustan's animals prepared to turn in for the night, their energy levels, both physical and spiritual, dropped. So, really, an attentive, wary being, a sentinel, stuck out like a sore thumb…

Asal blinked, a little, and returned to the physical realm just in time to hear her mate's voice.

"Greetings, brother, and blessings be upon you. We mean you no harm—we merely seek safe passage, food, and shelter for the night…"

Silence. Even the hypersensitive Kochai, who was busy sniffing, cutely, from next to her father, peering out and leaning forward, listening hard, trying to tell what the devoutly atheistic male was speaking to.

The obvious answer was nothing at all. But, a moment later… Nasher was replied to.

Unlike his wife and daughter, Nasher's face remained courteous but assertive—the other two registered surprise, then interest and curiosity.

"Three tigers, roaming around our home, just before the Season of the Rains…"

A pause followed, and then that deep, authoritative voice continued.

"None of your kind have been within a hundred miles of this area for generations."

"So…"

"What drove you from your previous home to ours, at such an inopportune time…"

"… must have been a demon, or worse."

"I'll not question what it was. Instead," the voice said, "I'll need your names, and your destination."

There was a pause, filled with expectant, anticipatory silence. Nasher and Asal shared a brief glance, and the tigress nodded—they'd be better served, just then, by honesty.

The tiger spoke, in a powerful, clear, assertive voice. Though their potential hosts didn't appear unduly hostile, there was no wisdom in showing passivity or weakness.

"My name is Nasher; and these are my wife and daughter… Asal, and Kochai. We come from the west, and our destination lies to the northeast of the Triangle of Pain…"

The tiger worked, quickly, careful to keep his gaze courteous and unreadable, to think of some reason to give the voice, if their purpose was questioned. Luckily, though, it wasn't… and, a moment later, their unseen speaker stepped into view.

It was an Asiatic lion, a male. He was a bit on the diminutive side, and streaks of gray ran through his mane. He was flanked, though, on either side, by more powerful males, that looked, warily, at the three other cats.

Asal adjusted her position, just a little, stepping in front of Kochai. Her husband had answered all of the Asiatics' questions, but they certainly didn't look friendly.

A moment later, though, the two burly males relaxed, visibly, sheathing their claws. They nodded gruffly at the tigers, then bowed their heads, as their leader stepped forward.

The smaller male got to within fifteen yards of Nasher. His ocean green eyes picked apart each member of the family, but Asal was too fast for him—she recited a brief prayer in her head, so that her husband and their daughter's minds appeared tired, a little wary, but not even slightly malicious or suspicious.

After a moment of careful examination, the small lion nodded, and bowed his head, as well.

"All right. I'll act in good faith, and assume that you mean us no harm—there's no reason that you would. For, in the eyes of men," the green eyed cat sighed, before smiling at Kochai, "lions and tigers are one and the same. So, in a way… we're kin."

The adult tigers were suspicious; their daughter, not so much. Before her parents could stop her, the naïve kitten had jumped out from between them, and gone to rub her head on the Asiatic's shin. Nasher and Asal moved, but stopped, halfway, and laughed, along with the lion.

"Yes, yes, hello to you to, little one," he grinned, rubbing Kochai's head with a paw, before looking up to her parents. "We'll be your hosts for as long as you like, but, I regret that our prey situation is dire. We can offer you only one deer… I hope that that'll be enough, and, as honorable guests, you won't take more?"

A slight, but very understandable edge had entered the Asiatic's voice. The Season of the Rains was hard on everyone, so food was a valuable commodity. It was generous enough for the lions to allow Nasher and his family that much meat.

"Of course, of course," the tiger nodded, as his wife bowed her head graciously, "we will not disrespect you so, brother. And don't worry; we won't be here for long… just one night. No more."

The Asiatic nodded, and nudged Kochai with his nose. The two pairs of green eyes met, and both of their owners smiled.

"Run along now, little one; be with your parents. I have work to do, all in my family do, as we make some last-minute preparations for the Season of the Rains. I must leave my post as a sentry; I'll trust you to keep your eyes open for intruders, yes?" the lion smiled.

"Of course, uncle! You can count on us," the young tigress grinned, before sitting upright, and snapping off a sharp salute.

The three adults shared a look, then a smile, before the Asiatic turned, bowed, paused, then saluted, and left the area.

"Crazy kitten."

* * *

Now, well behind the boundaries of the Asiatic pride's territory, the family felt relatively safe. It was dusk, now, and, as the Sun dragged all the colors in the world over the horizon with it, a blanket of darkness took over the sky.

Kochai yawned, and, eyes drooping, trotted around in a circle, before slumping over. Among the large, heart-shaped ivy leaves of the Hindustani jungle, her pale orange form stuck out. Her father, then her mother, licked her nose, making her snout scrunch up, before bidding her goodnight.

They often went off, late at night, together, so Kochai wasn't suspicious. As a couple, she reasoned, they sometimes needed privacy, even from their own daughter.

If the young tigress wasn't so sleepy, she'd have remembered that her daughter had planned, aloud, to take a nap together, as a family—they'd done that. But afterwards, he was to go hunt, alone. Then, they'd eat together, and sleep until late the next morning, before moving on.

Why the plans had changed would have been clear to the tigress, if she wasn't so sleepy just then. Her small maw widened as she yawned, eyes squinting, before she mewled a quiet "good night" to her parents, and folded her paws to keep them warm.

As her head lowered, she wondered, vaguely, why on Earth her parents would have decided to embark on such a dangerous, dangerous journey right before the Season of the Rains… and, for that matter, what the journey's purpose was.

* * *

For tigers to be close to one another so much… it's not natural. It's not how things are supposed to be. It's wrong, and if it must happen… then, it's natural for little… slip-ups… to happen. Even with tigers as controlled and affectionate as Asal and Nasher.

The tigress was still, sad-faced, watching her husband pace, snarling at the ground. Even in the darkness of night, her fur was white and bright, so much so that when Nasher finally looked to her, freezing in his tracks, it felt almost as if she cast a dim, slight glow on the surrounding area.

Almost as if she was an angel, or some other ethereal, benevolent being.

Even her silent confidence, even the prayers that she recited to herself, over and over, didn't stop him from speaking with resentment, and anger in his voice.

"I can't believe that you had us go to the Triangle of Pain—the _Triangle of Pain_—at the start of the Season of the Rains! What's worse, you will not tell even me; me, your husband, your life-partner… the purpose of this—this insane, this suicidal trip."

"Asal…" Nasher said, suddenly quietly, looking at his wife until brown eyes met blue, "Asal… you brought Kochai along. She loves you more than she loves me, there's no denying that; it's natural… but she's as much my daughter as she is yours."

"This trip is dangerous for her… so, so, dangerous. Surely, I have a right to know why I'm putting my daughter in danger? And surely, the person withholding this right from me is not my own, my beloved, my beautiful wife?"

The tiger was smiling, or trying to. Because, even as he looked to his wife… he could see her shut her eyes, then open them, swallowing… preparing a gentle refusal.

"Nasher, my husband… my love…"

Silence.

"I… I beg of you, trust. Please, Nasher… trust me. Why I have to come back to the place that I came into this world… I can't tell you. I can't, Nasher, I'm sorry. But please know… it's necessary, even if it puts Kochai in danger—"

"But for God's sake, woman, if it puts my daughter in danger, do I not have a right to know about it? The immorality of keeping secrets from your mate aside," Nasher snarled, suddenly raging; trying, hard, to keep his eyes anywhere but on his wife, as he paced, again, this time, with extended claws, "you _must_ tell me why we're here. _You must tell me what I'm doing something that can kill my daughter at any time_."

He still paced, still angry, confused, and afraid. In this private, darkened part of the forest, there was no chance of being seen or overheard. The Asiatics managed to live so close to the Triangle of Pain by keeping a low profile—and, in doing so, they were successful. All they had to do was keep good relations with other sentient Hindustanis, usually through bribes or threats, and keep off the trails that led from the nearest man-village, not ten miles away.

It was quiet. Quiet and private.

And so, Asal could feel the pulsating, dangerous waves of anger, caused by her husband, that vibrated through the air, through the ground, through the trees, through the leaves, to make her heart beat faster, and bring wetness to her eyes.

"Nasher… …please…" she whispered, sniffling, lowering her head in submission, "I… I…"

The white tigress closed her eyes, swallowed, and regained her composure. She looked up, focusing her eyes on her husband, who'd stopped pacing, to glare at her, baring his teeth. Her eyes were still wet, and she still spoke with a quavering voice, but she was confident and assertive… because she knew she was right. She knew it…

"I'm sorry, Nasher. I can't tell you. You have to trust me, though… accept that, as your wife, and the mother of your cub, I want nothing other than what's best for us; me, you, and, above everything, Kochai. I'm sorry, Nasher…" the tigress said quietly, "I can't…"

The weight of the following silence was great. It made Asal's ears flatten, a little, as she turned, slowly, facing her mate sadly, before moving to leave. She took one step, in which even the slight, slight wind died down. The silence, then, was almost numbing—time slowed down, so the tigress heard her heart beat, as she started to walk… lub-dub… lub-dub… lub-dub… lub-dub—

Something moved.

She ducked, splaying her limbs out, clutching the ground with her claws.

Nasher shot _just_ over her head, turning, in midair, before sliding to a halt within five yards of her. He really was snarling now, but what frightened the tigress the most was the insane, the… wild look, in his hard, brown eyes.

He was positioned similarly to her, but, a moment later, he began to circle. And, out of fear, she did too.

"What's the matter, woman? Frightened?" he hissed, swiping at the air, threateningly, with a paw, "That's understandable. I am too—but not for myself, like a coward. I'm scared for my daughter."

Asal's lip twitched. And then, the sadness, the reluctance, the submission on her face vanished, replaced by harshness and anger.

"Nasher, I told you ten times already—_I can't tell you what we're doing_. What's wrong with you; why can you not trust your mate? Your wife?! What's wrong with you?" she growled.

The two adult tigers circled each another, now, in silence. Scanning one another, they flexed their claws, tensing their muscles, coiling them up like giant springs. Teeth always bared, they searched for openings to exploit, to use to tear the other apart…

They stopped, all at once, and growled, roared. The fight, viewed by an unwitting bystander, might well have been called epic—to view an imminent discharge of such might, agility, and power surely would be an experience.

But, really, the fight would be chilling. Here were two beings that had known each other for years, that loved each other, that had a child together. The madness of it was that naturally, such a thing could never, ever happen, not in a thousand years. But after being forced to stay together for so, so much time… their nerves had worn down and down, thinning, before finally snapping.

And this was the result.

Hyperventilating to fill their lungs with energy-giving oxygen, they felt the ground under their paws, peering over their surroundings, one last time, to find any environmental aspects that would lend them an upper hand in the battle.

There was no turning back now. Both tigers were beyond reason. Pupils shrinking into venomous slits, they roared one final time, and charged—

They didn't meet. They were close, though; so close that each could count the whiskers, the fur on the other's face. Still snarling, still panting, it was moments before they managed to control themselves enough to look away, to look down…

"Mother…? Father…? What's wrong…"

Until then, Kochai's face had merely been curious. But, in a heartbeat, tears appeared in her eyes, then began to stream down her face, trailing paths of wetness, as she looked from one parent to the other.

"You… weren't going to fight, were you…? Wh—why… why would you fight?" she whispered, "Don't you love each other…?"

A brief pause. Then, Nasher spoke.

"Of course we love each other, Kochai," the tiger said calmly, confidently, looking at his daughter instead of his wife. His face was firm and kind, but also sad and grey. His eyes flickered, briefly, to his wife, before leaving her in both shame… and fear that he might lose control again.

"Your father's right, Kochai," Asal said with a smile, also refraining from looking at her mate, "It's just… from time to time, we forget that. Tigers aren't meant to live together for so long, daughter, you know it."

The kitten nodded, but certainly didn't look convinced. She sobbed, dryly, and, wiping her smallish nose with the back of her paw, looked down, dejected.

"I don't know, Mother. I don't know… if you saw the way you and Father were looking at one another, I think you'd agree…"

Silence. Neither parent dared approach their sobbing daughter, because they knew any comfort, physical or verbal, they offered her would be empty, and untrue.

Despite everything, a portion of Asal's mind remained unattached and pragmatic. And, as the two adults made eye contact, it was that portion of the tigress's mind that spoke, emotionlessly.

"I think, Nasher," the white female said quietly, looking into her mate's eyes without feeling, "that you and I need some time apart… if just for a few days."

A pause.

"…I… …agree."

Nasher looked away. Asal's eyes, cold and hard, like the ice that their shade implied, remained on him, thinking, analyzing, planning. It was as if the emotional portion of the tigress's mind, the majority of it, had shut off or taken a temporary break.

Maybe emotion, like religion, sometimes had to be ignored to make good decisions.

"You know…" the tiger said eventually, scoffing.

His voice trailed off. A bit shaken by the expression on her mother's face, and in her eyes, Kochai had shied away, coming to her father. The kitten was still crying, and, for comfort, rubbing her face on her father's old but still powerful shins. Nasher's harshness had relented, at that, and he'd begun to rub his daughter's head with a paw.

Then, the tiger continued.

"You know, Asal… when we became mates, we made a promise. Do you remember what it was?"

Eventually, the tigress nodded, just a little. And though her eyes were still hard and emotionless, her shoulders relaxed, just a hair, as she spoke.

"We swore that we'd stay together, not until death tears us apart… but as long as love lasts…"

Nasher nodded, and turned to his wife. Now, his eyes were as blank as hers.

As Kochai continued to cry, hugging her father's shin, the tiger spoke.

"So, tell me, Asal… if we have to keep being like this, if we have to continue to stay together for every moment of every day because the alternative is death… how long will our love last?"

Silence.

Total silence.

Even the golden tabby kitten had stopped crying, looking up and listening to hear her mother's answer.

The tension was so taught that it could be cut with a knife. Finally, though, it ended with Asal's soft, measured voice.

"I don't know…"

This time, the silence wasn't tense—it was dark and suffocating and _final_. Kochai started to cry again, and didn't look up when her mother addressed her.

"Stay with your father, little one. I'll be back…"

"…soon…"

There was a pause; more silence. Hindustan's forests were dark and dangerous, and, in the vicinity of the Triangle of Pain, even at the deadly beginning of the Season of the Rains, this held true for even a tigress as powerful and cautious as Asal—it held true even if her intentions were to stay _out_ of trouble… and nothing could be farther from the truth.

Kochai was a being unlike far too many in the world; Hindustan, the Land of the Spirits, and other places. She was lucky enough to have two living, healthy, loving parents.

But, for some reason, as the tigress looked up, seeing that her mother had left... she felt, somehow, that… she'd never, ever see her, ever again.

And so, as the tigress kitten's cries echoed after her mother, through the black depths of the Hindustani forest, it was clear that just another family, previously forged in iron and strong… had been torn apart…

* * *

(_Please_ review if you're reading this. Until next time… this is the Lion Sheikh of fanfiction: see you later.)


	18. Exile IV: Reflections II

The Lion King: The Freak

Chapter 18: Exile IV: Reflections II

* * *

(It's hard to believe that I'm already on the fourth installment of the Exile arc. I imagine that there will be about five or six chapters in this story arc, seven at the max. After that… well, this fanfiction has been in the works for over a year, already. It's getting time to end things.)

* * *

It's never, ever easy to open your heart to another, completely, and entirely. Most people never truly do it; they keep secrets from their spouses and siblings and children and parents—and, even from themselves. It's rare—it really is—to examine yourself, find out everything you can about the core you… and then, tell another person, another flawed person… what you've found.

Freak was at that level.

He'd been going around with the Dark One, now, for three or so days. The jungles and forests and plains and deserts and steppes of Hindustan were harsh, but under the liger's tutelage, they'd become manageable.

His wounds were healed, now. Even the life-threatening infection that had almost consumed the younger cat from the inside out had been eradicated, 100%.

There was talking; a lot of it—at least, for the oft mute li-tigon. His thoughts, for once, were not censored and edited before being shared, allowing the Dark One to be sure, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that, for once in his life, he was content.

Slowly, Freak brought himself back to full health—beyond full health, in fact. No longer were his mind and spirit tortured, or half-present. No longer did self-doubt, guilt, and a complete lack of confidence—in certain aspects—restrain him.

His state, though, wasn't at its apex—not yet.

Though their conversations lasted for hours, as they traversed Hindustan, hunting, praying, and sharing with each another all sorts of things—fighting and hunting techniques, navigation methods involving the Sun and stars—Freak had no… purpose. The Dark One even managed to teach Freak how to read, in a fashion, spiritual energy, but that didn't give him a use for the powerful body and mind that he'd been blessed with.

It was almost dusk, one day, when they stopped. Bellies full from a recent hunt, they were relaxed, calm, and happy. The li-tigon looked to the sky, as a slight breeze ruffled the dull overlay of fur that comprised his mane, and took in a deep breath.

He then glanced at the Dark One, nodded, and sat.

They were on a hill that rose, at random, in the middle of a one-of-a-kind convergence, between a swamp, forest, and grassy meadow. Trees rose, from lower ground, up almost to their faces, but the hill was steep—their vision of the sky was clear.

Or, at least, as clear as it could be in Hindustan. Freak had mentioned, before, that… something… smoke, fog, something… always seemed to blur the stars. At home, the li-tigon had said, back in the Land of the Spirits, the skies were always immaculately clear.

Still.

There was no moon, tonight, so it was quite dark. This made the twinkling dots stand out against the dark blanket of the cosmos even more than they normally did.

Silence…

There weren't many songbirds out, tonight. Occasionally, the soft chirp of a cricket or cicada would disturb the otherwise complete silence, but that was all.

Slowly, Freak closed his eyes—the Dark One would have, too, if he'd been fortunate enough to have them.

But, the next thing Freak did, the Dark One did as well.

They let go…

…of everything.

Sense, time, position, emotion… everything.

Oh, they kept certain vital biological functions running, of course. But aside from that, they released control of their bodies, as well. They left the physical world, in a fashion, and, after some deep, deep concentration, they were able to enter another…

* * *

The li-tigon's lips carried a smile—a somewhat sad smile, but a smile nonetheless, as their meditation session ended. He stretched without moving much, arching his back, slightly, and craning his neck from side to side, giving his long, thick fur a slight toss.

It was surprisingly late; they'd been at it for hours, it seemed. Darkness cloaked both cats, and the almost foreboding stillness of the land, just before the Season of the Rains _really_ began was unsettling.

Freak wasn't afraid, though, or anxious, as he felt his body tingle, presence and sensation returning. Slowly, his eyes opened, and he took in a long, deep breath of that dense, cool air, before letting it out slowly. As the exotic, herbal scent of the Hindustani jungle calmed him, clearing his mind, he turned to the Dark One, and spoke in a voice still as flat and monotone as it had ever been.

"I… felt my mother, I think. I couldn't tell what she was saying… but… she was speaking to me, Dark One. And… I feel sure that… it was with pride and love in her voice…"

The liger, though, didn't reply. Freak tilted his head, a little, but kept silent.

At the top of the hill, it was surprisingly chilly—it was in the middle of the night, or near enough to the middle of the night that all the heat from Hindustan's harsh sun had left. Slow but steady wind wicked body-heat away as the skies above prepared to raze the land with endless torrents of water.

Freak waited, patiently, though his tail lashed around, slightly, behind him, betraying an elevated level of interest. The Dark One's face wasn't blank or vaguely happy, as it normally was during meditation sessions… it was… a little worried, or concerned, at least.

All at once, the li-tigon sensed the older male's presence return, and the liger's head turned, quickly, snapping towards Freak. That made him blink, a little, and gave him pause.

Freak felt caution prick him a little, as the Dark One looked at the very fiber of his being—checking his loyalties, morals, and his stability. The li-tigon was agreeable, curious… but did _not_ allow himself to be suspicious or mistrustful.

Eventually, the Dark One nodded, curtly, and jerked his head for Freak to follow him off the hill.

Together, the two large males moved, quickly, through the forest. Freak had no idea where they were going, what they were doing, or why, but followed regardless. His man tousled, flounced, as he bounded downhill, hit ground, then took the Dark One's side.

They slowed to a quick job, and, finally, the li-tigon spoke.

"What's wrong? How can we help?"

The second sentence brought a grin to the Dark One's lips. Freak really had grown over the past few days. The liger turned to face Freak, allowing his face to set into an expression of serious determination. As they continued to move, he answered…

* * *

_It was the first time, ever, the family had ever been together, in its entirety. When they'd met, hugs and nuzzles and greetings had been exchanged—a lot of them. Then, smiling at one another, they'd sat down, closed their eyes, and searched, hard, scouring the world for one of their own…_

_They rested shoulder to shoulder, in a vague arc: Shere Kahn, Samehe, Chukizo, her brothers, and then, Maisha. Scar had been invited, but had respectfully declined, explaining that he had to speak with his own family…_

_For many, many hours now, they'd been concentrating, hard. Successes were few and far between, but, little by little, they'd made progress, and, barely at first, but then significantly, starting to peer past the thick cover evil had lain between them and the ones they needed to see._

_The session ended rather abruptly—such things couldn't be sustained for _too_ long, otherwise the risk of interception and even scrambled communications rose. And… they'd done what they needed to._

_Before the family could even look to one another, Mufasa was on the scene. The red-maned lion had sprinted across Heaven to see his relatives, and came to a halt in the center of the family. His chest pulsed, a little, as he panted, his golden fur shimmering in the light._

_"Did you…" he said, before grinning, and catching his breath a little, "just manage to do what I think you did?"_

_There was a pause… then, Samehe and Sher Kahn nodded, smiling widely._

_The former Lion King laughed, tossing his head back. The eldest cats took advantage of the brief distraction to sneak a cheek-rub, before looking to Mufasa, and speaking._

_"Yes, Mufasa…" Sher Kahn said formally, panning his gaze at the rest of his relatives proudly, "We've done it. We contacted someone acting as my grandson's teacher, or mentor—daughter, didn't you contact Shujaa himself?"_

_The tigoness nodded, and leaned over, for a second, to rub her eyes with the back of her paw. Maisha walked over, and, to comfort her mother, rubbed her head on the older female's shins._

_"I'm sorry… just… I don't think he heard me, or understood me, completely. But… I felt his happiness. He was very, very glad to see me…"_

_There was awkward silence for a moment. All present understood, very well, that Chukizo was hurt, greatly, by the fact that she'd never really been a force in her son's life._

_"So… you contacted our warrior's mentor." Mufasa looked to the tigoness, for a moment, sympathy in his eyes, before continuing. "Did you explain the situation to him?"_

_Samehe nodded, curtly._

_"Yes, Mufasa. He knows that our grandson is needed by his home, greatly. We had enough time to explain what's going on here… or, at least, what we think is going on here. Regardless… Shujaa's mentor promised to figure out some way to get him home."_

_The red-maned lion nodded, slowly. Slowly, he smiled, and bowed his head a few degrees._

_"Good," he said, in a tone betraying a great deal of hope, "Very, very good. I'll go, now, and inform, my forefathers. This is a great development…"_

_There was a pause. Maisha and the former Lion King made eye contact—this cause the li-tigoness to giggle, quietly, then snap off a sharp salute. Mufasa chuckled, deeply, and reciprocated… before leaving._

_The family was alone again… but for some reason, they didn't speak. Their attention, now, was not on Chukizo… but on her father._

_Shere Kahn's face was downcast, as he looked at the ground. Canting their heads in curiosity, both Samehe and Chukizo looked at him, approaching, before the latter spoke._

_"Father… what's wrong? You're sad… why? We did everything we needed to, and more…"_

_"…I know. I know, daughter. I'm sorry for raining onto your parade," the tiger said, making Chukizo smile, a bit. His speech still had the occasional quirk or oddity, even after all these years._

_"It's just…" he sighed, looking down again, and speaking in a slow, soft, morose tone, "I…"_

_There was a pause. Shere Kahn swallowed, and then, managed to look up, a little._

_"I… contacted someone else, too… and… she told me something impossible…"_

* * *

"War is coming, Scar."

"What?"

Silence. Like two phantoms, or ghosts, or demons, or angels, the two cats flitted through the jungle. Now, they were going so fast that even Freak was starting to pant, and strain to keep up. It didn't help that the liger's fur was almost black; it blended into the dark forest with marvelous perfection.

Every now and then, Freak would see the Dark One's form flash in and out of the twisted, gnarled trees—they were going through a grove, of sorts. The li-tigon couldn't keep as silent as he'd have preferred too, normally—the water; muddy, murky, and full of small fishes and crabs, was thrown up as he ran. It was comforting, though, to hear the Dark One moving along as well—Freak used his ears to guide him.

But the older cat didn't answer. Freak could no longer keep his eyes on the liger; he was going at such speed through the dense terrain that taking his eyes off the path in front of him would mean running, headlong, into a tree.

The li-tigon ran into a group of vines, then broke through them. Now, his heart pulsed in his ears, but he didn't stop—he just ran faster. He tripped, once, and almost fell, but rolled to his feet, shook himself off, and kept going.

Ahead, now, the Dark One burst in and out of view. The liger was laughing, and Freak attempted to catch up—

And came to a halt.

The liger was seated, calmly, motionlessly, chest still, even as Freak gasped for air. The Dark One's paw was fisted, in the air, signaling for Freak to stop, which he did, all too gladly.

Quickly, though the li-tigon regained control of his starving lungs, and stepped around to take the liger's side. As always, the Dark One's eyes were closed, but it felt very much like he was meditating again.

Slightly exasperated with the liger's odd behavior, Freak's lip twitched. He was about to make a curt, somewhat miffed comment about how being run to exhaustion after the disclosure of rather unsettling information would make any reasonable being swear and storm off, but the liger was too quick.

"In your motherland. The Land of the Spirits."

"War."

Freak noted, vaguely, that he and the Dark One were in front of a small pool of water, atop a rock. All around them, Hindustan's tall grass's were ruffled, now and then, by gusts of cold air. For some reason, the li-tigon felt a strong sense of déjà vu… he did, often, lending credence to the theory that his grandfather was Hindustani, and so he'd lent his grandson collected, ancestral memories.

Here, though, that sense of "I've been here before" was stronger. Perhaps, in the Jungle, there was a place similar to this…?

This area… it had a sense of nostalgia about it. Or, perhaps, sanctity.

"I… don't understand, Dark One," the li-tigon said, as he turned back to the other male, who, at last, was looking back at him—through shut eyes. "There's already war in the Land of the Spirits. The Desert is, as far as I know, still at war with the Wet Forest and the Southern Rocklands. I told you that… and I also told you that I don't think… that they'll last much longer."

"Tsk, no, no, no, my son."

Freak blinked, and tilted his head—surely, the Desert conflict, which had claimed _thousands_ of lives satisfied the definition of war?

"No, my son. Not just… war," the liger said delicately. There was a pause, a long, foreboding one, before the Dark One continued, in a deeper, ominous tone.

"A _real_ war, O Scarred One. A war that will threaten not only the lives of those that find their homes in the Land of the Spirits, my son. It's a war that will threaten their _souls_."

The li-tigon felt a cold, icy hand grip his insides. He felt short of breath, for a minute, as his eyes widened—he wasn't in harm's way… well, as far as he knew… but the idea that so many beings—so many beings that he'd grown up with, ate with, fought with, lived with and nearly died with… the idea that they were in such danger made him… worried. At least.

"There will be two sides," the Dark One continued, "It's very simple, my son. This war… is, simply, good versus evil."

"And… how do you know—how are you so sure about this, Dark One?" the li-tigon asked. It wasn't that he didn't believe the liger… at all. But he needed to stall, to get more information, to think. Because this deep, paralyzing panic… he didn't like it. He didn't like it at all.

"Your family spoke to me, my son. And please… calm," the older male said gently, "I understand your feelings very much. But there is no use in allowing yourself such emotion right now, yes? It's alright… I guarantee that you and I, my son, will think of some way to help…"

Freak nodded, and, with concentration, managed to banish fear from his system—for the moment. After all—everything he had ever cared about, with a few small exceptions, was at risk. Panic was justified.

"So… good versus evil. …Evil… …Who represents each side…?"

"Your family, my son—that is to say, those that live—these, I think they're called, Proud Landers, and other lions also, and some more… they represent good."

"The other side, my son, is comprised of two distinct factions—that is very important for you to keep in mind."

"One faction is represented by someone, my son, whose name was not dared uttered by those in your family that have left this world. I believe that he will have an army, at least, that must be dealt with before he can be, directly."

"The other faction, my son… is you."

"Or, rather, Scar, your twin."

Silence.

Freak peered out across the pond below them, sadness in his heart and mind, but not on his face. Moonlight spanged off the motionless surface, tinting his form with a gentle, light-blue overlay. Fur and mane tousled by the chilling breeze, he spoke in a quiet, reflective tone.

"I… I don't understand, Dark One. That can't be… I was blessed with a sister, one sister… and… she died, just after childbirth. I almost followed in her footsteps… but I have no twin, Dark One. I am the only living child of my parents, and the only living grandchild of my grandparents. I have no twin."

There was a brief pause. The Dark One turned to the li-tigon, amusement and skepticism on his face. The liger snorted, a little, and Freak looked over, face devoid of emotion.

"My son, I have taught you much. But still, it seems, your mind is still so mundane—so physical. We have more twins than those whom we are born with…"

"Because, Scarred One, there is a theory—your family has a name for it, I believe they are calling it the Gemini Theory. It's very simple—it boils down, essentially, to the idea that all actions have equal and opposite reactions."

"The premise, my son, is that for each one of us, there is another, just like us… with the same goals, the same struggles and the same problems. The difference is only that they use different methods… to achieve these goals. So, while they are us, in most ways, it is that one, single difference that makes them so different than us that we are unrecognizable."

"Your family didn't have time, O Scar, to explain things to me completely—but they did tell me this much."

"For a very long time, generations, now, evil has accumulated without any significant means of discharge. It's been ignored, my son, and now, it is coming… in full force."

"So, Scar, you see, war is coming. You must fight your twin—an evil being… among other things."

"Ah, my son, I always did know that you were destined for greatness—it seems that I am right. Because, O Scarred One, it seems that you are a warrior—no. You are _the_ warrior of all that is good, and you must fight your twin, the warrior of all that is evil."

Freak's prowess in terms of controlling his emotions, his thoughts, was a double-edged blade. Though the Dark One was now sure that the lack of feeling and empathy on the li-tigon's face was reflected in his heart… Freak now had the ability to withdraw entirely, making his feelings utterly unreadable.

Which happened to be precisely what he was doing, just then.

The Dark One concentrated, for a moment, and surmised that Freak was looking, blankly, over the vast plains in front of them. From their perch on that rocky slab, wind had a clear shot at them. The liger wasn't uncomfortable, though; like Freak, his coat was thick and protective.

The scent about this place… it was remarkably _fresh_. There were no flowers, though—the grass was just pungent, almost herbal in nature. This added to the calming, soothing, sacred sense about the place.

Still, with all the added influence, what the Dark One planned to do would be difficult. He wasn't going to hypnotize or fool Freak, of course; he wouldn't so grievously betray anyone's trust like that. What he was going to do, though, was invoke divinity… to show Freak… what he needed to see.

The liger took in a deep breath, held it, for a long minute, then let it hiss through his teeth, slowly.

"My son…" he said quietly, "Please look into the water."

Of course, the Dark One couldn't see what was going on. But he listened, closely, and carefully noted the minute changes in the life-energy emanating from Freak, the kind the li-tigon couldn't shut down, and nodded, in approval.

The younger male was silent, for a moment. His eyes couldn't peer too far into the pool's depths—but he could see the bottom of the clear, shallow lake. A bed of silt, devoid of life, crustacean and ichthyoid, filtered the water until it was transparent nearly to the point of invisibility.

The li-tigon shut his eyes, both the scarred one and the unmarred one, and spoke, after a moment.

"I don't understand."

When he opened his eyes back up, the image on the surface of the water was the same as it had been before he'd closed them. There was no mistaking it—the powerful profile, stony features, striped muzzle, thin mane, the telltale scar…

"It's just me. Just my reflection… nothing else."

"Then, my son…" the Dark One said, before jerking his snout meaningfully, and gesturing, with a defined forearm and paw, back at the small pond, "look harder…"

Crickets chirped, very quietly, around the two cats. Freak blinked, at one point, and, as furrows formed in his brow, he leaned in, a little, lowering himself. Insects flitted from the tips of the plains' grass blades, excited, by something. The Dark One took in another long, deep breath, and let it out again, slowly.

"Do you see, Scarred One?"

The li-tigon's eyes widened, suddenly. He extended his neck, staring at the water—or, more accurately, the reflections splayed out across its surface.

First, a tigoness appeared. She was smiling, widely—and, for the first time ever, Freak saw no sadness or regret on her face. Striped in that age old, inherited, dominant manner, her form was slim, sleek, powerful… and matriarchal.

"Mother…"

The underdeveloped, round face of a kitten appeared. Smile splitting her young, shiny face in two, her stripes were more jagged—the foil of the absolute softness visible in her eyes.

"Maisha…"

A more familiar face appeared, now, eyes locked on the li-tigon's. This one was stripeless—its fur was tanned and weather-beaten and old but _strong_. Shrewd features, cunning eyes, and a grim but protective and selfless demeanor made Samehe recognizable in a heartbeat—a pained, bittersweet heartbeat—for Freak.

"Grandmother…"

The next face… was unfamiliar, at first—the li-tigon had never seen it before. Clearly masculine, it had a very prominent chin, and… foreign, exotic features, the likes of which were never found—"naturally"—in the Land of the Spirits.

Freak concentrated, hard, though, mind working in overdrive. Gunmetal eyes darting from side to side as he thought, the click of comprehension that made him stare, suddenly, was practically audible.

"… Grandfather?..."

The tiger's face was stern, proud, but harsh and sad. Yet, at the li-tigon's word… its eyes focused, a little, and… nodded... as, slowly, a slight, unfamiliar smile spread across its face.

Freak took in a brief, ragged breath—it was almost, but not quite, a sob. His eyes were wet as, for once, he showed outwardly the emotions he felt inwardly. Breeze made the pond ripple, a little bit, though the images on its surface remained as clear and unadulterated as ever.

Next, the li-tigon saw not one face, but three. They were all different, but shared such overwhelming similarities that they had to be related; closely related. Striped and maned, their features were more tigerish than Freak's had been… closer, in fact, to his mother's features…

"… My… uncles…?"

The trio nodded vigorously, encouragingly, and raised their paws in greeting to the nephew they'd never met. Freak laughed quietly, sadly, and was about to reciprocate, until the image in the pond changed again.

Next to the li-tigon, the Dark One was motionless. Eyes shut, as always, his breathing and heartbeat were so slight and slow they were nearly negligible—such was his concentration, such was the depth of his immersion in his efforts to uphold the connection between Freak and what Freak needed to see.

A long, ragged black mane; lemon-lime eyes; and confident, sharp features…

"Father…"

The dark lion smiled, just a little—it wasn't his style, apparently, to show too much emotion, even though his son was so, _so_ happy to see the face of a family member. Scar's masculine detachment broke, though, several seconds later, and he smiled much more natural, opening his mouth.

He started to speak… but Freak couldn't hear. After all… his father wasn't there, with him, at his side; he'd never been and he never would be. Still—the li-tigon _yearned_ to hear that… how had Sarabi described it?... that soft, purring, rolling voice… he wanted to hear it.

Freak's paw had left the rocky outcropping that was his perch. It was trembling, traveling, slowly, towards the water's surface. Oh, how the li-tigon wanted physical contact with his father… how he wanted it…

Something changed, though. Something big—something that made Freak stand up, erect, yanking his paw from the surface of the pond as if he'd been burned.

It wasn't a face, now, displayed on the suddenly tumultuous, unstable ripples of the pond. Now, as red light so harsh and hot and hateful that it kicked up sediment at the pool's bed, a being appeared.

Moving with the dexterity of a man, but the tenacity and _fury_ of an enraged pride of lions, this… thing… it wielded an instrument in its arms, one not unlike that which had almost killed Freak on his first and, thankfully, only—thus far—encounter with men.

Its face held only anger—_pure_ anger as deep and dark and black and incurable as cancer.

The light from its weapon strobed on and off, on and off as it panned the stick-like muzzle back and forth, back, and forth, blasting chunks of flesh from its… not prey. It wasn't going to eat them, and even if it was, it didn't need to. Its face, though—a catlike face built with teeth as long as its huge, dangling, talon-like claws—was splashed with those brief, staccato bursts of light as it opened its mouth, roaring a roar so loud and vengeful and _lost_ that even here, thousands of miles away in this secluded Hindustani jungle, Freak heard it.

_"Lost…?"_

Freak's claws ceased to clutch the rock upon which he stood, to continue to watch the massacre playing out in front of him. He leaned in again, a little bit, as the clamp of fear, of panic, lessened its hold on his mind.

Indeed… the being, the demon, who was performing a complicated maneuver with his paws, causing a brief lull in the battle before opening up with the deadly weapon in his arms again… wasn't focused, or purposeful.

So, as the li-tigon watched, no longer concentrating on the shrieks of agony and pain coming from the demon's prey, he began to understand.

_"He really is my twin…"_

_"Because I could all too easily be in his position right now. All too easily…"_

The images in the pool began to die down, slowly, fading away. Still, Freak's twin was there, fighting harder than ever, now with a long, wicked blade. Just before the portal died down entirely, though, the li-tigon swore he saw his twin get down on his knees, clutching his head , before leaning back, facing upwards as if to cry, in agony, for someone—anyone—to look at him… to understand his pain.

Silence.

The li-tigon's face was natural—blank. He turned, sitting up, a little, to face the Dark One. The older cat was seated, calmly, shoulders heaving on occasion as he kept calm, quiet, concentrated.

A slight, soft, chilled breeze ruffled the grass, the water, and the fur of the two cats. Freak looked upwards, a little, towards the sky, so that the air brushed aside his mane, revealing that even though he'd undergone so many changes during his long bout of unconsciousness, he still might be recognizable to a dweller of the Land of the Spirits—maybe.

_"I think I understand the Gemini Theory now."_

"That's good, my son," the liger said, smiling, as his trancelike state fell.

Freak's whiskers twitched, a little—though a power rarely seen, the Dark One's ability to read unguarded thoughts, to peer into unguarded minds, was a little unnerving,

"So, Scarred One," the older male said, nudging Freak's shoulder with a friendly, fisted paw—for once, the li-tigon didn't need to brace himself, or ignore instincts screaming at him to prepare to fight for his life, "You understand the gravity of the situation. This is some, how should I say it… serious stuff, yes?"

The li-tigon nodded, slowly. The looming task facing him would have overwhelmed most beings, but Freak was, naturally, almost a complete pragmatist—completely emotionless. He knew his task, and he would find a way to do it. Now, though, he not only had the power to shut down his emotions—he had the power to think, deeply, silently, for a few minutes, as he contemplated, then concluded that the course of action he'd already started to plan out for himself was, indeed, the right one.

His brow furrowed, though, as he approached a certain thought. Opening his mouth, slightly, he turned to the Dark One, words at the tip of his tongue.

"A question, my son?" the liger asked kindly, taking a few deep breaths to expedite his re-entry to the physical world.

"No, just…" Freak paused, closing his eyes for a moment, before continuing. "I… just find it hard to imagine, that… I'll have to fight my Gemini—it's… it'll be like how it was for my mother, when she tried to kill me. It was… right, by any moral standard… but…"

"I don't know, if… I'll be able to do it."

The liger sighed, and, after a moment, spoke, looking out over the rolling Hindustani plains. He turned, a little, head hung several degrees, and spoke in a low, mournful tone.

"My son… as I said to you, the first time we spoke… most everything is, on one level or another, evil. And, O Scar, you know that we have a responsibility—a duty—to avert evil whenever we can. So, sometimes, it's necessary to stop large acts of evil by committing smaller ones."

"My intention isn't to belittle what you must do, my son, or the pain you'll surely feel," the Dark One said, in a grave tone, "I want only for you to feel secure, now, in the righteousness of what has to be done. Yes?" he asked hopefully.

The li-tigon was silent, for a moment, as, again and again, he went over what he'd been told, and what he'd seen. Everything he cared for—everything worth living and dying and struggling and fighting for—was at risk.

Everyone…

And yet… fight against his own twin? With the intention of killing this pained, lost, tortured, lonely soul?

Freak's features were blank, sculptured, emotionless, as he looked to the water, as if for answers.

But there were none in sight.

So, the li-tigon shrugged, shoving his thoughts aside, for the moment. A speck of dust, or perhaps a fly, irritated Freak's nose, so the li-tigon shook himself off.

_"I'll face what needs to be done when it's time for it to be done. Dwelling on it now… won't do anything good."_

Another question, though, had replaced the li-tigon's insecurity of his ability to fight, and kill, his twin.

"Dark One… how am I to return to the Land of the Spirits? It must be thousands and thousands of miles from Hindustan… and we don't even know where it _is_, in relation to Hindustan…"

The liger opened his maw, then closed it. Then, he repeated that routine, licking his lips, before speaking in a pleasant, carefree tone.

"I do not have the foggiest idea, my son."

"But I would not be so very worried," the Dark One said, "There is one being here; I have been in touch with her for quite some time now. She's coming even now, I think, and she, and her _human_ friend, should be able to help."

Freak's eyes widened, and, instantly, he felt a prickle of adrenaline. Heart thumping a little louder, the li-tigon willed his claws to sheath themselves. Just to calm himself further, though, the younger male looked around, in paranoia.

The plains were still, silent, like the water in front of him. Perched on top of the rock as they were, Freak and the Dark One made fine, visible targets…

But there was nothing in the vicinity, apparently. The li-tigon's formidable senses didn't detect them, and the nearest treeline upwind of the cats' position was over a mile away—well out of range of any creature's weapon, even a human's rifle.

"My son, you need to calm yourself," the liger said suddenly, sharply. Freak looked over, ears pulling back, just a little, face blank as the Dark One continued.

"I know that I have taught you much—so, what I am doing now is not to teach you anything," the Dark One said in a disappointed tone. He was glaring at Freak, teeth slightly bared—but the li-tigon felt no fear, anymore. He'd learned, and a lot. "I am only reminding you of what you already know."

"Prejudice is wrong, my son…" the liger said, after a tense moment, even allowing a smile to creep back to his face. "Not all humans are evil—"

Several things happened—not all at once, but in quick succession.

First, the Dark One's eyebrows raised.

Then, his head angled downwards, in an instinct to visually inspect himself that hadn't left despite a near lifetime of blindness.

Then, the liger put a trembling paw on his chest, drawing it away slowly, fearfully, but knowingly.

Then, the Dark One licked his paw, nose twitching, ever so slightly, before he nodded in comprehension.

"Hm."

"Blood."

"My… …blood…."

Slowly, for Freak, anyway, the liger shivered, shuddering. His fur, normally as black as the night sky in the Land of the Spirits, was still soft, ostensibly… but now, it was being dyed a gruesome, gory crimson shade by long, rhythmic, powerful pulses that, gradually, were getting sporadic… weak…

Tired…

The Dark One looked up from his injury, setting his paw down, gently, on the rock. The li-tigon realized, in the back of his mind, that he couldn't hear anything, save for a dull, slight, echoing ring, as he watched the liger smile, confidently, fearlessly, and laugh in defiance, even as rivulets of blood dribbled from his maw, drops spraying into the air with mirth… before, slowly, mane lingering in the air, just a second longer… he started to fall.

Time sped back up, and Freak's hearing returned. He froze in shock, just for a second… then jumped into action.

Before the Dark One hit the ground, the li-tigon had caught hold of the scruff of the larger cat's neck. Freak was astoundingly strong even when calm and collected, but now, with adrenaline and fear flooding his system, he didn't even feel the liger's weight.

Something roared through the air, rushing, just next to the two cats, going off to bury itself into the thick grove behind them.

As Freak moved on, not having time to toss the liger onto his back, he searched, hastily, for somewhere to take cover. There was another rocky structure; perhaps twenty yards away—their only chance.

The Dark One was trying to speak, to tell the li-tigon something, but Freak ignored it—he had bigger worries, just then. As the liger was dragged, rapidly, across the terrain, another shot rang out, chipping the outcropping that Freak had just left, so that jagged bits of stone whizzed past the cats.

Freak kept low to the ground as he moved, still pulling the Dark One along by the scruff of his neck. The grasses separating the pond from the boulder, ten yards away and closing, were tall, and offered some cover. So, snakelike, the li-tigon crawled, dragging the Dark One astride him, praying that they wouldn't be seen.

The cats managed to get behind cover without further contest. Freak yanked the liger well behind the rock, tugging the Dark One's limbs out of the open. He was only reasonably sure that they were taking fire from the far treeline, upwind of his position—but it was over a mile away.

Still, though, now wasn't the time to carefully analyze what had gone wrong or how it had happened—now was the time to react, to save the Dark One.

To ignoring the rising bile in his throat, the way his flesh crawled, ubiquitous instincts screaming at him to _run_, far and hard and fast, Freak sucked in a deep breath, assessing the situation. He and the Dark One were behind cover, and, since the distance between them and their attackers was great, they were out of immediate danger.

The next course of action was obvious.

The li-tigon put his paws, one atop the other, on the Dark One's chest, on top of his wound. Then, Freak pressed, hard, growling, trying to stave off blood flow—

But the liger just laughed. His voice was incredibly… small… weak...

Hearing such a tone in the Dark One's voice… was disturbing. Freak snarled, though, and pressed harder—he could save the liger, he _could_, he would...

"Ah, my son," the Dark One murmured, placing a still firm, still powerful paw on the li-tigon's… pushing them away. "You are selfless to the core. Knowing that… brings warm feelings to my heart. I have, in my mission to bring you back to the righteous path in life, been successful."

"But accept it, my son… I am finished."

Indeed, the liger had taken a deadly quartering-toward shot—his left shoulder had been cleanly snapped, his ribs shattered, and the bullet had gone in to the Dark One's vitals. For now, his heart and lungs functioned, barely… but that wasn't going to last. And both he and his companion knew that.

Freak's face was twisted in regret and pain and guilt and sympathy, as he faced the ground. Breathing rapidly, twitching, needing to do _something_, anything; standing still, staying behind cover was torture. He needed to _act_.

But the Dark One couldn't speak, or move, quickly. He did manage to fix his invisible gaze on the li-tigon, though, until Freak looked up, making what would be eye contact, if it wasn't for what had happened to the liger all those years ago.

Still, though, in that blank stare, Freak found solace, and, despite the bitterness of what was going to happen… comfort, and even a sense of confidence. The Dark One's fate was certain… but there was no sense in refusing to accept it.

Freak managed to breathe a little easier. Only, though, when the li-tigon was calm enough to appreciate just how peaceful the liger looked, resting against that rough, harsh rock, did the Dark One speak, in a slightly less small, less pained voice that made the li-tigon lean in to hear.

"My son… I'm sorry. I didn't detect them… There's no time to show you what my student looks like—I'll trust God to see that you and her find one another."

"You will… know when you find her," the liger groaned, attempting to sit up, to stand on his own four paws, again, for the last time, "There's a signal…"

Left paw curled up in agony, the Dark One managed to stand. Freak moved to help, but the liger waved him off… and, teeth bared in pain, managed to set his left paw on the ground.

Then, as the li-tigon watched, the older male performed an intricate but simple and easily reproduced maneuver. Even as the Dark One executed the salute, Freak memorized it, repeating it to himself mentally, several times. The slow, calm pace, the careful, precision maneuvers... there. He had it.

It was a good thing, too, because the Dark One wouldn't be able to run the pattern by Freak again.

The liger slumped over, again, in a controlled and almost graceful fall. The li-tigon twitched, moving to help, but he was slow… too slow…

As blood pooled on the ground from the Dark One's mouth, dying the grass blades red and feeding the earth with a metallic, protein-rich drink, Freak rasped, coughing, after trying to take in a gulp of air. Tongue and mouth dry, he tried to swallow, but accomplished nothing aside from making little, wet droplets collect in his eyes.

"My son…" the liger murmured, and, in an instant, Freak was at his side, prepared to fulfill the Dark One's last wish, his dying wish. But the older male groaned, though, twitching, lethargically.

"What is it, Dark One? What can—tell me what to do. I'm… Hindustan isn't my home. Without you, I'm lost… guide me, Dark One. Please…"

The liger swallowed, peeling back his lips to snarl, forcing energy back into his system, just for a moment. Something clicked in his mind; something was going to happen… what was it? …He didn't know. And now wasn't the time to waste time trying to figure it out.

"… Run away, Scar. Run… run away, and don't return…"

Again, that dull, echoing ring returned to the li-tigon's ears. Attempting to rid himself of the bizarre sensation by shaking his head, Freak saw a blurred, grayish world streak by… before nodding.

He turned on a _dime_, twisting his body in a graceful and sudden display of feline agility and flexibility. Then, he _ran_, throwing caution and stealth to the winds, that whipped across the plain, suddenly, tousling his fur and mane.

Another shot rang out, missing the li-tigon entirely, but caused him to run faster yet, diving, headlong, into the thick, impregnable maze of trees and vines from which he and the Dark One had emerged before. Face set in grim, pained determination, Freak refused to allow his mind to drift back to the liger, who was now all alone, at the base of that boulder, curling up, resting his head on his paws one last time, waiting for death…

* * *

(A/N: melanism is sort of like the opposite of albinism. Use Google or Wikipedia if you have further questions.)

The end to the Dark One's story, it seemed, would come in melancholic doldrums.

He had nothing to do, really, but rest, attempting to get comfortable before he took his last breaths, and think—think on what he'd realized, or thought he'd realized, just minutes ago.

It felt almost like the liger had made a breakthrough, or was on the verge of one. He was fairly sure that it wasn't a physical one—no, he wasn't about to break a personal speed record, for instance. Perhaps, then, it was an accomplishment that was of a trans-physical nature.

Against the cragged, rough, dark, multicolored granite surface of the boulder, the melanistic cat wasn't easily seen. Adding to his camouflage was the late hour in which he lay dying.

Still, though, the ones that were tracking him down weren't relying on sight, alone. And, in many ways, the downed liger stuck out blatantly, against the bleak, rolling landscape.

His chest heaved, for what could be the last time, and a thin, drizzling spray of blood washed over the dusty grasses from his nose and maw. Ruff and cheek and mane saturated with the congealing red liquid, the Dark One prayed, vaguely, that Freak was alright, and had escaped the hunters… he'd had five or so minutes, already, and in that time, the liger knew that the younger cat could eradicate himself from an area so completely that tracking was more or less guaranteed to fail.

So, with a grin on his lips, the Dark One focused on that, as he sensed a being—he wasn't sure what, or who; his senses, or what remained of them, weren't at their best, just then—approach him.

_"So… humans aren't all that unlike us. Sometimes, they too hunt alone."_

"You'll never find him," the liger murmured, peacefully, "You might have gotten me—and I congratulate you for that; many have tried, before, and failed—but you won't catch him. He's a warrior… of his homeland, the Land of the Spirits… and me."

_"This is assuming that you're working for an interest aside from your own. That your motivation to find him exceeds simple capitalism."_

_"That's doubtful."_

"Oh, no… Dark One…"

As the dim tunnel that was the passage to the next world surrounded the liger, he felt his mind work, sluggishly.

_"…Humans… can understand our language, sometimes…"_

_"…But… never before have I seen one… that… speaks it… so well…"_

_"And… in such a female voice…?!"_

The liger had accepted his fate for the simple reason that he didn't want to be torn to the next world, kicking and screaming—that wasn't his style. He wanted to go willingly, if reluctantly, to whatever his destination was.

As a result, he had plenty of adrenaline to flood his bloodstream with. Even so close to death's door, the liger maintained control over every single one of his bodily functions to a degree unimaginable by most. Thus, the second he decided that he needed to remain living for another few minutes, he shivered, once, and looked up, energy coursing through his system.

And there she was, standing in front of him like an angel descended from above to see him. Many times, she'd attempted to communicate her appearance to him, but her command of the life energy that flowed through her, the Dark One, and all living beings wasn't perfect.

It didn't do her justice.

The liger knew this… despite his blindness. He didn't know how he was doing it—perhaps the divine had decided to give him the pleasure of sight, again, in his last minutes.

Regardless… somehow, he knew that she was beautiful. White fur, streaked with jagged, lightning-like stripes that broke up an otherwise immaculate, uniform tone. Razor-sharp, polished teeth that blended into her coat. Eyes as brilliantly azure as a clean, deep river; and nose as pink and soft and wet and cold as a… scoop of… strawberry… ice… cream…

"Asal… is it you?" the liger murmured, voice slurred and not quite coherent, as his lips peeled into a wide, wavering smile, "I'm glad to finally meet you… though… you might have chosen a more opportune time."

Adrenaline, though, doesn't last forever, not when you've lost perhaps a quarter of your blood. And the Dark One had lost much, _much_ more than that, trauma and shock notwithstanding.

The liger fell, or, rather, almost fell, but his form didn't slam into the dusty, grassy ground—it was caught, in a soft, gentle embrace, formed by two plush but powerful forelegs.

"No… you're dying…" the tigress said, carefully setting the Dark One down on his side, gently.

Her voice, her mannerisms… there was something about them. Something about them that made the liger forget, for a second, what he had to do, overwhelmed by a wave of nostalgia, of _longing_…

It passed, though, as the Dark One felt, vaguely, with the dampened remains of his senses, Asal feeling his chest, gasping, before promising to help, to save him.

He laughed, and reached out, pawing, blindly, for a second, before sternly, sadly clutching the female's wrist… and shaking his head.

"My daughter, you said it best, I think—I am dying. There is no purpose in wasting time saving what cannot be saved. Rather… there is… something to be gained… by…" the male coughed, groaned, before swallowing, rasping, eyes crinkling as his ruined tear ducts attempted to flush his sockets with fluid, "… Asal… you have to find Scar. I… no time to explain things… he will. He'll be… in…"

A pause.

A pause.

A terrible, long, slow, tense pause.

Asal was certain the liger had died, if not from blood loss and trauma, but from the sheer effort of concentrating—it felt very much to her, as she tried to put pressure on his wound, to prolong life for at least a few seconds, that he'd forgotten to breathe.

A second later, though, the Dark One gasped, unfreezing, and shook his head.

"I do not know where you may find him. But not so much time has passed since he ran… you're a… ….you… provide for those under your care… you're a hunter. You'll… track… …provide… under your care… better than… I can… than I _did_…"

The Dark One's words were rapidly losing coherence. So, for a moment, he just gave up trying to speak, and curled up. He was still breathing and his heart was still beating—irregularly, and sporadically, but still beating. Blue eyes as damp as the red, tainted ground around her, the tigress prayed, sobbing, begging for anyone who might be listening to give the Dark One just a few more moments… a few more…

"Daughter…"

His head turned, a little, cocking, so that if he was blessed with sight, he'd be looking into Asal's eyes. A curious expression on his face, he spoke in a tired, gentle tone, like a grandfather too tolerant and easy-going to chastise a mischievous child.

"You have an important task to do. Find… the Scarred One. He's a hybrid, as I am; and yet, not as I am. You will know when you see him, though—he knows the signal."

The tigress nodded, lip quivering, and jerked, moving to leave hastily, as her powerful nose twitched, telling her that humans—a good few of them—were approaching from not too far off at all.

And yet…

Yet…

The Dark One had done so much for so many. Was this really to be his death—alone, here, at a blackened, burned rock, under a blackened, polluted sky, over a dirty ground, dyed red with his own blood—alone?

The tigress took in a deep breath, closing her eyes, and recalled one of the earliest things she'd been taught by the liger that was now mere seconds from death in front of her.

_"Life is never fair; do not expect it to be. If you want that to change, though… then never use the unfairness of life as an excuse to act unfairly. Ever."_

"My daughter…" the Dark One murmured, purring, almost cooing, "you have not left, yet…"

"… Please, Asal," the liger said, in a suddenly sad, more serious tone, "Leave me be and go. Find Scar; find the warrior… he needs you, daughter. Go…"

The tigress's cubhood had been… the Lion Sheikh declines to describe it fully, for now. But it had never really given her the opportunity to act as was natural for females to do at a certain age—she'd never really been able to disobey, to "hmmph!" or to adamantly shake her head, and set her foot down when she had no right to.

Then, though, she did.

Asal paused, thinking… then ignored her elder and better. She shook her head, though gently, and, clamping down on her instincts to utterly and completely ignore them, sat, then slumped over… then wrapped her arms around the Dark One, holding him close, even going so far as to rub her cheek against his muzzle.

"I won't, Dark One. I hope you can forgive me for it," she said quietly—she didn't need to speak in a tone louder than a whisper; such was her proximity to the liger's ear, "But… I don't believe anyone should have to curl up and wait for death to take them to the next world alone. No… you will die in my arms, Dark One…"

The liger was silent for a few long moments, but still breathing, still living. Fur began to prickle at the back of the tigress's neck… the humans. They were coming.

The Dark One's breaths were now death rattles; hissing, gasping, panting, shaky. And yet… when he spoke, head moving sluggishly to tilt, face twitching to smile, it was in a quiet, gentle, and utterly bittersweet tone.

"Do you remember, daughter, when you and I first contacted each another…?"

"Do you remember… how I was, until even minutes ago, unsure of how… we found one another?"

"I… think I know."

A pause.

Then, the Dark One's lips and chin quivered, rapidly, as his foreleg muscles suddenly acted, clamping down on Asal hard enough to squeeze a surprised "Ah!" from her. The liger nuzzled the white tigress's neck, for a moment, hugging, hard, until she calmed, her tail's lashing becoming controlled and slight.

"It's because… you feel exactly as my sisters did…"

_"I… never knew that I'd remember how they felt. That was stolen along with my sight, I thought. I'm still not sure… how they feel."_

_"…Well. I believe I'll find out… in just a moment."_

"Hmmm…"

The Dark One was smiling. He was smiling and peaceful and happy and calm and content, as, finally, his aged, damaged heart pulsed once more… then shuddered… then gave up.

"In my arms…" the tigress whispered.

She held him for a few more seconds. She could spare no more. Because, when she finally jumped to her feet, eyes and face determined as she scrambled into the nearby groves, the humans were _on_ her.

Dodging bullets and uncouth words of surprise, her nose twitched, again, as her claws dug into the ground, paws adjusting themselves to shoot her off in a few direction. Leaving splashes and pugmarks and the Dark One's blood in her wake, Asal moved on.

She had her mission.

Now, she had to complete it.

* * *

Stereotypes often have a grain, or sometimes more than a grain of truth behind them.

Tigers are angry creatures—this is a terrible, destructive prejudicial stereotype.

It also happens to be a reasonably true statement; well quantified by the way Nasher paced back and forth, back and forth, wearing a shallow path in the thick, wet grasses of the forest in which he found himself… stuck… _stuck_… with his daughter.

One could very, very easily make the case that his anger was justified. After all, never before had he and his wife shared such harsh words, and never before had they left one another so angrily… never before had they so _nearly_ fought.

But the manner in which Nasher expressed his anger… that couldn't be justified at _all_.

Hissing, snarling, growling so much that even his easygoing, hardly scared daughter felt real fear when she looked at him, face tainted with the trail of many tears. She was clutching at her belly—it had been a good few days since the family had had a satisfying kill, and the kitten was really starting to feel the lack of food.

But—perhaps wisely—Kochai ignored her hunger, for the moment. Her father had been ranting, on and off, ever since Asal had left. Largely, his grumbles and curses had been incoherent, but, for a few seconds, he formulated coherent phrases.

"That whore… dragging me and my cub to the Triangle of Pain—just before the Season of the Rains begins! Then, she resists my righteous and very justified attempts to put her in her Goddamned place… then, she leaves me—me, a male, me—with a child! Insane…" he seethed. _"I don't know what I saw in her besides _physical_ beauty."_

Perhaps, if that thought had had more than a few seconds to stew in his mind, the tiger would have stopped, sat down… and sobbed, calling his daughter to him, hugging her, apologizing to his mate, before going off to do the duties of a parent—the _vital_ duties of a parent.

But he didn't have long to think about what had just flickered through his mind at all.

Because he paused, suddenly, blinking, before looking down.

Pathetically, his daughter had nudged his foreleg with a paw, before jumping back, a little, ears completely flat. Shivering, a little, she only dared look up to meet his eyes after a moment of tense, thankfully eventless silence passed.

"F-father…" Kochai mewled sadly, blue-green eyes wet and sad and worried, "Please… I already tried to hunt for myself, but I can't find anything… there are no prey animals that I can find, Father… so… please… hunt for me. I'm so hungry… so hungry…" she whispered sadly, gaze falling to the ground, making her look just as helpless and desperate as she was.

The tiger's face was blank. But, perhaps, behind those brilliantly green eyes, a battle took place; between two emotions, two instincts. Then, the battle ended—one side was victorious.

Nasher bristled, and stepped forward, threateningly, his huge, powerful paw not an inch from his daughter's still small, still soft, still innocent appendages.

Snarling down at her, he leaned in, so close that the shaking kitten could feel his breath on her neck, and spoke in a deep, threatening rasp.

"It is not… my _fucking_ job, daughter… to provide for cubs. So… deal with your hunger."

Out of guilt, perhaps, or disgust with himself, Nasher stepped away, moving to walk off to take a few seconds to calm.

"And, as you said, daughter… there are no prey animals, anyway. They've all gone into hiding to prepare for the Season of the Rains."

The tiger was sitting now, sneering at the jungle all around him, as if demanding for it to throw his wife out, back to him. Had he had a few more seconds… then maybe… just maybe… he would have calmed, completely, turned, and apologized to his tearful daughter, and ran off, instantly, to return with food, later, and more apologies.

But he didn't have a few seconds.

Rubbing her cheek and the blunt smoothness of her head against the much larger cat's paws in complete submission—begging him—Kochai spoke again. Her distinctive golden tabby coloration made her much brighter and lighter than her father, and, to the tiger… she looked, really, much like her mother… just like her mother…

"Please, Father… I'm so hungry… I'm just a kitten… please, Father… feed me… I'm so h—"

Moments after his birth, or less… Freak had dodged a potentially fatal blow from his mother. Despite the speed and alacrity of the attack, the li-tigon had managed to see it coming, and, for the most part, evade it.

Kochai…

… wasn't so lucky.

Perhaps the kitten saw a flash of fur, or perhaps the kick had taken her completely by surprise.

Regardless, one minute, the young tigress was more or less still, nuzzling her father's paw. The next, she'd flown through the air, more than a few yards, then come to a messy, dazed halt, at the base of a tree.

Trying to shake the blurring, the buzzing out of her head, Kochai mewed quietly, stumbling around. A second later, when she'd more or less pulled herself together, trying to work out what had happened, she jumped, suddenly, fur standing on end.

Nasher had jumped towards his daughter, missing landing on her—perhaps unintentionally—by mere inches. Snarling, roaring so loudly that it hurt the wide-eyed kitten's ears, he grabbed her neck-fur with a paw tightly enough to make her hiss in pain, eyes welling up with tears.

"I ALREADY TOLD YOU, YOU LITTLE BASTARD, SO SHUT UP! THERE'S NOTHING TO EAT, AND EVEN IF THERE WAS, I WOULDN'T GET IT FOR YOU!"

Whiskers twitching, white ruff red as he flushed, Nasher's extended claws were, thankfully, dug into the ground, preventing them from digging into, perhaps, something more alive.

Speechless with fear, and frozen by it too, Kochai was crushed up against the tree, pushing hard against the ground in her instinctive effort to get away from her father. Then, as her muscles relaxed, a little, a more conscious part of her mind was awaken.

Her eyes had been wet for a few moments, now, but she hadn't yet let a drop of that wetness spill.

Yet.

A tear rolled out from the young tigress's eye, slowly. It glistened as it fell, seeming to drift down to the ground, like a leaf or particle of dust, not water.

This distracted Nasher's attention—the tiger watched it fall, head tilting in time with the tear.

Now, he had a few seconds to think. Now, he had time to realize what he's just done—he'd made his daughter cry. That knowledge, in and of itself, was enough to make Nasher flinch, cringe… before groaning in horror with himself as he truly began to comprehend just _how_ he'd made her cry.

"Oh, no… Kochai, I'm—"

Silence.

Well, save for the hushed, ambient background noise that was native to the jungle. The cool hiss of moisture collecting on plants, the muffled calls of frogs and songbirds and insects…

Kochai, though, was gone. Vanished into thin air, apparently.

Her tear hit the ground, and, just as it did, Nasher scented his daughter…

… and took off after her.

She hadn't been able to make it far in such a short period of time, of course. And, of course, her father was exponentially faster, so that, almost in four or five long, powerful bounds, he'd caught up with the fleeing kitten.

Kochai only ran faster, though, and darted through a thick clump of trees that was, for Nasher, impassible. So the tiger went around the side, peering into the foliage, face stricken. The tiger's concentration was such that he didn't notice the way his fur stood on end, not with fright but with electricity, or the way some primal, ancient instinct told him to seek cover, _fast_.

"No, no, daughter!" the tiger called out, in a voice choked with agony, as he lowered his head, catching flashes of that small but viciously fast body, as it darted through the forest, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, don't run awa—"

Nasher didn't hear anything. He didn't see anything worth mentioning, either, save for perhaps a flash of white so bright that it blinded him—maybe.

He might have sensed something, perhaps, but his mind was so occupied and scattered, just then, that he couldn't honestly say that he did.

He felt something, though—that was certain. It was… a horrible, _intense_ scorching that singed the outer layer of his thick, shaggy coat, blackening it. Eyes shutting to protect themselves, the tiger attempted to jump—he was too slow, though, as the force of the electric discharge that created a _powerful_ bolt of white-blue lightning that connected the sky to the ground _threw_ him.

The tiger's head was slammed into a tree, and his vision was as blurred as his daughter's had been a moment ago, when she was the one that had been thrown. Groaning, Nasher would have tried to get to his paws, if he'd had time, to douse the flame that had caught on his tail, before loping off after his daughter again.

_"Daughter…"_ the tiger thought, seething in agony, as he tried, fruitlessly, to roll or crawl out of the way. _"Wife…"_

Nasher fell, body flopping uselessly on the ground, as he looked around, for a moment, managing to catch a glimpse of his daughter's retreating form. Eyes rolling to the back of his head in fatigue and agony as their lids shut, the tiger prepared to accept his fate.

"God… please… I have no wish… other than that… my family… will survive this Season…"

After the crackling, snap-hiss of the lightning strike, and the resulting explosion, the forest had fallen into shocked, frozen silence. Well… a few fires crackled, dimly, and splints of ruined, shattered wood rained down, flung for hundreds of yards, and, maybe, the hushed whisper of dark, acrid smoke from burnt leaves produced a little noise, just a little…

But still. It was quiet enough so that the ominous creak that went from nothingness to an overpowering roar in a horrifying crescendo blotted out every other sound in the forest for miles, perhaps.

The tree that had been struck by God's Lance, as it was called in this part of Hindustan, had had its core, its trunk burned out. Due to a loss of structural integrity, it had wobbled, tilted… then started to fall.

It weighed tons, and was still on fire; its huge, scaled bows blacked charred and hot as they raced towards Nasher.

Then, as the log smashed down on the tiger with enough force to shake the Earth for acres, forest animals called out in clamor and fear. A deafening, guttural roar of thunder roared in reply, as, in the distance, several more lightning bolts struck ground. Water—sheets, _buckets_ of it began to pour down, flooding the forest instantly, drowning out even the shrieks and yelps of the jungle's inhabitants with its cry.

The Season of the Rains had begun.

* * *

One of Freak's earliest memories was being lost.

At the time, he hadn't really recognized it for what it was—his mind wasn't developed enough to grasp the concept of not having any idea where he was, or what he was doing. And, in some ways, his mind had only developed enough to grasp those basic facts mere months ago.

Now, though, without the Dark One, in the still strange and unfamiliar land of Hindustan, he really was lost.

It was early in the morning; dawn had come and gone perhaps half an hour ago. As the sun's orangish rays glimmered, slightly, through the humid, hot jungle that Freak found himself in, refracting through collected drops of dew, the li-tigon moved, slowly, morosely… not forwards. Hopefully not backwards. He just moved, trying to move _on_, trying to let go of what had just happened.

And yet, every step, every sight and every smell and every touch seemed to bring with it a painful memory of the Dark One. Freak had only spent half a week, or so, with the liger… but in that time he'd started to understand himself, and the world around him…

He'd _started_ to. The li-tigon's path towards real enlighten was still long… and now, without the Dark One, it was as lonely as it was wrought with pitfalls and temptations.

The sheer enormity of things, and life itself, threatened to overwhelm Freak for a moment. Regressing to harsh, pragmatic, black-and-white thinking for a few brief seconds, the li-tigon quickly analyzed himself at a level so basic that he _couldn't_ be overpowered.

_"I am not hungry."_

_"Am healthy."_

_"Am clean."_

_"Am safe... probably."_

_"… Cannot detect any immediate threats. Am safe enough."_

_"Have no shelter…"_

_"Acceptable. Can find shelter later. Shelter isn't required. Can escape or move on readily. No need to search for shelter. One can be found later."_

_"Am… insecure. Unstable."_

_"Unacceptable."_

_"Must obtain security and stability immediately."_

_"…How… can I obtain security and stability…?"_

Slowly, Freak's less primal mind returned. He was in a small clearing; in the midst of three or four huge, thick-trunked trees, enough sunlight was blocked out that there wasn't really any plant-life in any direction for a few yards.

"Meditation."

The li-tigon stopped in his tracks. He nodded to himself, slowly, and turned, taking a few steps before sitting down at the base of a tree. Facing away from it, to give himself the best view of his surroundings—and as many escape routes as possible—he closed his eyes, and took in a deep, slow breath.

Calmness came, albeit slowly. Freak considered, for a moment, what to concentrate on, what to focus on and use as a source of strength and stability.

_"Dark One…"_

Yes! Since the liger had died so recently… surely, Freak would have little difficulty in finding him. The li-tigon hadn't even moved _that_ far from what was surely the Dark One's deathbed.

Using that enthrallment as motivation to calm, further, and focus, Freak's brow furrowed as he searched. Feeling many presences of many recently departed souls, he pored over them, trying to seek out one, one in particular…

The li-tigon's determination didn't falter, even as success continued to evade him. His hope did, though… it seemed that he really was nothing at all without the Dark One.

Wait… there! A presence. Something—no. Someone was trying to contact him, someone was searching for him, as well.

_"Dark One… I knew I'd find you. Please… I need guidance…"_

But the being that had found Freak… was not the Dark One. Not even close.

She was female; a tigress. Totally dissimilar to the liger in appearance, she had no underbelly to speak of; her entire coat was bright, deep orange, and her stripes were… just like Freak's… and his mother's, and his grandfather's.

The li-tigon tried to concentrate harder to figure out who she was. Several guesses, some more likely than others, repeatedly entered and left his mind. He listened, closely, as she smiled, and started to move her lips. No sound came out, though, at least none that Freak detected, regardless of how hard he listened.

Still, as the hybrid started to feel her struggle against being called away, he felt a sense of bittersweet happiness. When their meeting finally ended, and the li-tigon found himself back in the physical realm, he realized that, no matter what he was doing or where he was… he was never really alone.

Smiling, just a little, the li-tigon let out a soft, quiet breath. He stood, brushing past a large-leafed plant so that large, wet droplets fell, sometimes landing on him, sometimes on the ground. In the distance, he noted, the sky was darkening—then, an exceptionally large, powerful bolt of lightning was shot from the sky, striking the ground so hard that even here, miles away, Freak felt concerned for his own safety.

Considering his next move, Freak began to walk, thinking, looking at the ground to avoid distraction. Now that he had more or less all of his basic needs taken care of—what now? How was he going to find the Dark One's other student—whose appearance, Freak reminded himself, was a total mystery.

The li-tigon, by then, was making his way to another clearing. Still brooding, he walked through a tight pair of trees, struggling, for a moment, to shake his stuck hindpaw free. He growled just a little, in frustration; surely he had enough on his plate already, without this added annoyance?

Just as Freak pulled his appendage free, something _cracked_. A twig, or something—but the li-tigon wasn't moving, and even if he was, he'd be paying enough attention to not make unnecessary noise.

So, the only logical conclusion was that he was not alone.

His head shot up, as he started to lower himself, preparing to fight for his life in a procedure as natural and instinctive as breathing. But he stopped, halfway, and cocked his head.

He wasn't alone; not at all. And the other cat, not twenty yards from him… could _certainly_ threaten him; those razor-sharp claws and rippling muscle weren't for show.

Yet, she'd froze, too, midstep, gaze leveled at Freak's. Their eyes met, heads angled at just the same position, watching each other, waiting, wondering why on Earth they felt no fear.

The li-tigon's eyes didn't narrow, even as he noticed, vaguely, that this female was absolutely beautiful. Oh, she was a freak, just like him… but that white fur, that strawberry ice-cream—ahem… that cold, pink nose… no. She was freakishly _beautiful_.

_"Ah… I think I understand…"_

Each cat stood, at his or her respective full height, expressions neither passive nor aggressive—just interested, very interested. And then, in perfect unison, they performed those exacting, precise moves, signaling to one another that yes, indeed, they were both the Dark One's students. They were both indeed looking for one another.

"Scarred One…?" the tigress asked politely, smiling, as she slowly, humbly, but not cautiously stepped towards the li-tigon.

"Yes… …Asal," Freak replied. He was still, for a moment, before he too approached.

The embrace they then shared was brief but friendly and very heartfelt. As the tigress's soft, plush fur met the li-tigon's, Freak felt odd, for a moment; euphoric and very, very self conscious. His mane was so untimely, his stripes so tribal and savage, his fur so—what…? What was he thinking? What—this made no sense. Blinking at himself, again relatively emotionless, save for a measure of satisfaction and certainty, the li-tigon took Asal's side, as, together, they pressed through the forest.

He'd never felt emotions like those, before… well, not really. Vitani… he recalled, painfully, that she'd occasionally evoked similar feelings, though to a lesser degree. Around her, Freak had always drawn himself up, making his posture more rigid and powerful, licking his fur clean and flat.

Maybe the li-tigon's disinterest in the opposite gender was going the same way his disinterest in affairs aside from his own had. Maybe someday he'd even feel the desire to have a mate, to create a family. Maybe someday… he'd find a female whose fur and embrace brought him even more comfort than Asal's did.

The tigress was beautiful and her affections welcome. But the li-tigon knew, suddenly, that she wasn't for him—not like that. Maybe no one was, but that didn't matter. Because, just then, they both had bigger things to worry about.

Freak didn't have to try, now, to not speak in a curt, blunt manner. Now, his speech was less forced and more natural. The Dark One had done a lot for him… in many ways.

"I'm glad to see you; I truly am. And so soon—this is good. How much was the Dark One able to tell you about what I have to do?"

As the white tigress padded along, purposefully, she thought, for just a moment, head angled downwards. Then, she looked up, blue eyes bright and powerful, in contrast with Freak's more subdued, analytical gunmetal orbs.

"I know everything, Scarred One. The Dark One spent his last moments with me… I don't understand what happened, fully. But I felt part of his consciousness enter me, and with it came knowledge. So I know the task in front of you… and I know how I can help."

Freak nodded. The two cats were side by side, more or less, making good time to the south. The li-tigon found that he was grateful to be able to speak and act in such a purposeful, businesslike tone—reflection and meditation, now, wouldn't accomplish all that much—now was the time to look ahead and _act_.

"That's good. The Dark One said that you had a human friend who should be able to help…"

_"That was just before he was killed… by humans."_

Freak instantly felt a bit of shame, and a bit of disappointment directed at himself. Banishing that thought from his awareness, he sighed. If Asal truly did have a human friend, he needed to be able to trust that friend without reservation—because now, the li-tigon knew, any mistrust or hesitation could be fatal. Hunters were, for inconceivable reasons, active, and the Season of the Rains had begun—it would reach every part of Hindustan within hours, no doubt.

"I do. I've already contacted him; he can't meet us right now. I'll take you to him, though, very soon, and don't worry—humans are fearsome, vicious creatures, I know… but not him. I have never felt any fear from looking at him, not even for a second."

Freak slowly nodded at that. Here was a being who had surely grown up in fear of humans. So, if she could accept one so completely to befriend him… surely, he could too? And yet, as the li-tigon looked to Asal, canting his head… he knew that she wasn't a native. Her ruff was too long, her eyes too brilliant, her features too exotic…

"I wonder…" he said, after a few moments of silence, relative silence, as the duo moved across a hill, "Asal. …You… I wonder about you. You're a foreigner—not as foreign to Hindustan as I am, perhaps… but you weren't born here. You have an accent that no Hindustani tiger could hope to replicate."

The li-tigon was being nosey. But shit—he had only been with the Dark One for a few days. The liger couldn't possibly have ironed out every social ineptitude in his student so quickly.

Asal didn't seem to mind, though. Cats were curious, thus was nature… and, despite his age and power… Freak was, in many ways, not yet an adult. Not yet.

"You're quite right, Scarred One. I was born in the land north of Hindustan—the Feet of the Himalayas."

The tigress seemed reluctant to continue. So, Freak pressed her, just a little, no aware that what he was doing might be perceived as impolite.

"So… why did you leave?"

Damn. He hadn't meant for it to come out _that_ bluntly.

The tigress just smiled, though, but faced forward as she walked along. It was refreshing, in a strange sort of manner, to speak to someone like Freak—he might be odd, paranoid and the committer of an untold number of faux pases, but he was an interesting person to go to a bar with—to share a walk with.

"It came down to a very simple manner, Scar. It's a matter that's easier to see than my eyes."

The li-tigon canted his head, a little. Surely, it wasn't _that_… surely, any being with two neurons to rub together to see that this tigress, this beautiful, kind tigress ought not to be made a pariah for a matter as silly and barbaric as that…

"My fur color," Asal said after a moment, sighing, "I… till today, I don't know why. An arrogant part of me holds that it is because in the snow and mountains of my motherland I have an advantage that none others do. But I cannot be sure."

"What I do know," she continued, after a moment of somewhat sad silence, "is that when I was a few months old, just a small cub, a kitten… I was forced out of my home."

"I… don't know how I lived. I had to teach myself to hunt, mostly, and to track and hide from larger animals. I... it was incredible. I don't know how I did it, but I lived. But my cubhood… it was—"

"So… so hard," Freak said quietly. He wasn't looking at the tigress, even as she turned, a little, trying to face him. "But, above everything else… it was _lonely_."

_"That solitude…"_

_"I suppose I'll never know, truly, what it took from me besides a cubhood and a chance at a normal life."_

"Yes… …how did you know, Scar…?"

"Because," the li-tigon said, finally meeting Asal's eyes, with his old smile on—not a natural, slight expression of happiness, but a forced, twisted, and false grimace, "I was alone from my first hour alive until I was a few years old."

"I'm not bragging, nor am I looking for sympathy," Freak said solemnly, "It's just… …you know, the Dark One also had a hard cubhood. When I found that out, I was so surprised, and happy. I don't… I feel hopeful, now. Because now, I know that there are others like me."

"That I'm not and never have been alone."

"I just wanted to let you know that, too, Asal," the li-tigon said, his smile now more normal, "I just wanted you to know."

The tigress smiled, and "accidentally" nudged her shoulder against Freak's.

"I appreciate your sentiment, Scarred One…" she murmured, "But I already know that I am not alone."

"My husband also had a harsh cubhood. His mother was killed—shot dead by hunters—in front of his eyes. His brother no doubt died moments later, or, worse, was captured. When I met him…"

"I was… so, so happy to find someone that tolerated me—that accepted me, grew to like me… then came to love me."

The tigress's smile light the jungle up more than her practically glowing fur. She smiled, and then turned to Freak, canting her head a few degrees.

"And you, Scarred One… aside from the Dark One, you have met beings that accept and hold love for you also, yes?"

The li-tigon's smile wasn't as close to splitting his maw in half as Asal's. But, in its own way, it was just as powerful, just as precious… and far more rare.

"Yes… I was hated, for most of my life—the majority of my life. But… it seems like so long ago, now. Just months ago, though… I found family. Friends. And among them, yes… I even found love. And not just a little…"

_"Vitani…"_

His voice trailed off, and he didn't continue. Asal, though, unlike Freak, had the sense to not press on. She knew he would continue, eventually, on his own accord, and, a moment later, the li-tigon did.

"I… _yearn_… to see them again. Not a day passes without me thinking of them. I want to be with them again more than anything else."

_"I'd die for it."_

He hadn't said that, he hadn't said it at all. And though Asal's command of transphysical energy exceeded Freak's, she couldn't have read his mind in the same manner that the Dark One sometimes seemed to be able to.

So… she was a damned good guesser.

Conversation is like a fruit, ripe and fresh and sweet. Its flesh was one that Freak needed, desperately; he'd spent a lifetime without it, more or less. Asal's mind was churning; guilt from her actions towards her husband and their cub was threatening to take over—she needed a distraction. She needed some way to occupy herself.

Neither cat noticed all that much. Of course they maintained a low level of situational awareness, but let's be honest—they were two cats; two powerful, full grown cats. Any overconfidence on their part was reasonably expectable.

They were walking, side by side, still at a good, strong pace next to a very shallow puddle of water, perhaps big enough to sustain a few small shrimp, maybe even a crab or two. Treading on short, prickly grass and mud, their eyesight had almost degenerated into tunnel vision; they were fixed on what they were _going_ to do, not what they were doing.

Maybe if they'd paid a little more attention, they'd have been able to avert what was coming.

Maybe if they'd learned the lessons that the Dark One had taught them better, they'd have known better.

Maybe… …The Lion Sheikh would… think of something to write here…

The tigress's mouth opened, and, again, time slowed down for Freak, or, at least, it seemed to. She was smiling, and had been for a few moments, but then, her lips downturned. Then, her maw widened, not to speak but to shout in fear.

Freak's eyes widened as he, too, began to react. He ducked, or tried to, but knew that he wouldn't quite be fast enough to evade whatever was coming—

Asal, though… was fast enough.

Not to duck, though.

She was fast enough to _jump_.

Black stripes blurring into white fur to create an Oreo—a cookies 'n' cream—a gray blur, she shot through the air. The li-tigon, by now, understood what was going on, and tried to shout to Asal, to tell her not to do it.

But it was, of course, too late. She was already airborne and moving too fast to stop—she was also so single-minded in her purpose that she didn't hear Freak. The male was still more or less standing, and so, there was only one way to save him.

Asal knew that swatting Freak wouldn't help anything; the li-tigon was just too massive. So she shoved him, adjusting her own trajectory, just a little. There was a margin of error, but it was so small and things were going so fast, just then that the tigress knew not to try anything hopeful—anything _stupid_.

In the end, things worked out exactly as she wanted them to. Freak hit the ground in and of his own accord, whereas… something hit Asal. In and of her own accord.

The li-tigon, again, found that hearing was a sense that escaped him. The first thing he did, after hitting the ground, was turn, and grab Asal by the scruff of her neck, ignoring the foolishness in doing so.

The tigress was bleeding, _badly_, but that loss of body mass combined with her already small size meant that Freak could lug her around, easily.

Which was fortunate, as there was no cover in his immediate vicinity.

The ground seemed to suck at Freak, pulling him back, even as he raced against the time it would take for the human hunters to attack again. There was a big tree… fifty yards away. Odds of making it to that tree while pulling Asal along were slim.

But Freak had no choice; or, rather, he felt he had no choice; or, he accepted that he had a choice and made the decision because it was so obvious that in practical terms he had no choice.

Face set into grim determination, he yanked the tigress up onto his back, and _ran_.

All decorum and control forgotten in that all-out sprint, Freak found himself snarling as his maw opened wide to suck in energy-giving air. His eyes, both the scarred and the good one, crinkled up, shiny granite orbs peering out from beneath those thin, crumpled coverings.

Heart beating in his ears, as something _powerful_ smashed into the ground beside him, Freak realized just how far away the tree was… and, for the first time, that his place as a predator… wasn't set. Perhaps, to some… he was prey.

Freak had, sometimes wondered what it was like for prey when they looked at their predators—when they met their eyes and knew that they were inferior and, in all likelihood, doomed.

As desperation began to fade into hopelessness, as the tree seemed farther off than ever, Freak found out.

That's why he hadn't been able to detect them before. The li-tigon's suspicions had been proven correct, because the few silhouettes, perhaps a mile and a half away were human to the _core_. Somehow, some way… they were attacking him and Asal from that distance. Somehow.

Freak's foot caught on something. Perhaps it was a rotting root, a bone, discarded from some meal, or the ground itself. Regardless, he flew through the air, and tried to roll. Asal fell from his back, sliding across the ground—

But he'd made it. He'd made it. Not even taking a second to collect himself, the li-tigon pulled the tigress against the tree, panting. Freak listened, closely, then decided that danger was still a mile and a half off.

So then… he turned to Asal.

And froze.

Charcoal stripes were no longer set on a plush, white, feather-light bed. Now, they were set, carelessly, on a matted, drenched, blood-red coat.

Blood.

Her blood…

The li-tigon groaned, and then _whined_. This wasn't right; wasn't natural. The Dark One had just been killed… what was it, six hours ago? Less? And now, Asal…

Any attempts Freak made to stop the tigress's blood loss were feeble—that's because they were pointless, and he knew it. The li-tigon gritted his teeth, lip trembling, before he realized that Asal was speaking, and listened with all his might, giving up on first aid and just clinging to the tree, ear perked up and pressed against it to listen for any signs of human activity.

"I wonder," the tigress whispered, resting against Freak with her eyes shut, paws folded over her injury as if peacefully, "why we are being hunted now. There's no sense to it—the Season of the Rains is going to begin, and the hunters need to leave this part of Hindustan, to go to their homes far, far away. That can't be done during the Season of the Rains."

"Someone must have it in for you very much, Scarred One," she murmured, smiling a tired, defeated smile.

Freak had an arm wrapped around the tigress, keeping her from slipping out from behind cover. But he held her tighter than was necessary. And why he did that might have been explained by the two or three small, clear drops of fluid that struck the back of Asal's fur, just behind her neck.

"My time on this Earth is finished, Scar. Thank you for accepting that so readily… thank you. I have not known you for very long… but God, I know that I would have loved an opportunity to get to know you. It seems that this is not to be… …in this… …world…"

She gulped, dryly, trying to catch her breath, trying not to twitch and whimper in agony.

"So," she continued a moment later, "You'll have to find my friend with—not without. Just… …with less… assistance from me. I—"

Asal gasped, dryly. Horrifyingly, Freak heard a gurgling sound in the tigress's throat, and knew what that meant. He'd killed prey by severing arteries before, so that they died of blood loss. So, that… terrible, dark sound… was one he was familiar with.

She was drowning in her own blood. And there was nothing he could do about it.

"I don't have much time to tell you about him. But you will know who he is on sight, just like you knew who I was on sight. This is my hope, and I trust that the divine will see that it happens… I hope…"

The tigress coughed, quietly. She spasmed, heaving, trying to rid her lungs of the same blood that she so desperately needed elsewhere in her body.

"You… have to know… what… friend… looks… like…"

There was a long pause. Asal shivered in the li-tigon's arms, for a moment, and Freak honestly thought, just then, that she'd breathed her last.

"No time. I have no time," the tigress breathed—even though Freak was inches away, he had to stretch to hear those words. "Face… …his face. It's… handsome, Sc… Scar… and pure. …You'll know… him… on sight…"

"Now go. You have to—Scarred One… please… you must leave…"

The li-tigon didn't budge, though. He didn't say anything either, even as the tigress's protests grew progressively more feeble and less determined. Eventually, Asal just gave up, and weakly nuzzled his paw. Time dragged by, but the tigress clung to life with the same instinctive fervor that Freak clung to her.

Eventually, at the very tail end of her life, she managed to speak again. It was in a tone so soft and so innocent and precious that Freak would remember it until the end of his own life.

"You comfort me, Scar… and I think how you do that so easily is a result of the same cause that gave us no difficulties in getting close to each another so quickly…"

"It's because… you feel… exactly as Nasher does."

_"…Wait… …Your… Nasher's… stripes…? They're exactly the same, also…"_

The tigress didn't say that. She couldn't, because by the time that thought crossed her mind, she was beyond speaking.

Freak's eyes were shut as he felt Asal finally let go, growing limp in his arms. Moving slowly, so that the shakiness of his paw wouldn't mar the tigress, he reached up… and closed her eyes as well, for the last time.

Refusing to wonder just how far away the hunters were, Freak took his time, slowly setting Asal down. His face was blank, but the gentle, respectful, affectionate manner in which he set her body to rest for the last time said that he felt… quite acutely.

At least, that's what it would have said to an unbiased viewer in a level state of mind.

Freak's nose twitched.

Then, eyes widening, he looked up in a flash.

Snarling, standing in a slight indent in the not-so-distant treeline—concealed from the hunters but not from Freak—was a tiger. He was older than Freak and just a little smaller, and livid with anger. Green eyes hard and pained and determined, he seemed to be trying _very_ hard to not cross the short distance between himself and the li-tigon.

He couldn't present a target to the humans, he reminded himself. He might no longer have a wife… but he still had a child to care for. Even if she—

Nasher growled, loudly, teeth clenched so tightly that blood collected in his mouth, mixing with saliva, before flying out as he spoke in a harsh tone so guttural it hurt to hear as well as to speak it.

"Get… away… from… her…"

Freak complied, slowly, eyes never leaving the tiger's. His mind worked rapidly to wonder who he was and why on Earth he was here, making such a determined but profitless demand—

_"Ah…"_

_"Her husband…"_

"Brother…" the li-tigon said, sorrow and guilt in his voice, "Let me exp—"

"Be silent. I've seen and heard everything—SHUT UP!" he yelled, drowning out the apologies that Freak kept trying to inject into his words, "shut… up."

The silence that followed was metallic, brittle, and had a sour, sickening taste to it. Freak's expression was twisted and mangled, but the li-tigon didn't dare speak—he didn't dare. Nasher was _just_ barely holding himself back from viciously assaulting him here and now.

"You have…" the tiger seethed, as the sounds of approaching hunters grew more and more painfully audible, "24 hours. Twenty four hours, then, I swear upon my wife's soul that I am going to hunt you down…"

"And _kill _you."

Freak was afraid. He really was—though Nasher wasn't quite as big as him and probably not as adept of a fighter… the li-tigon had to remember that the tiger was on his home turf. And the tiger also believed that the reason he was fighting was a good one.

"No—I'm not—this isn't what you think! Don't—" But it was too late. Nasher was _gone_, vanishing into the jungle before Freak could track him. And this action was for a good reason…

The li-tigon stopped, dropped, and rolled. Then he moved in an erratic zigzagging pattern, dodging bullets from the left and right—the hunters had nearly managed to surround him. Fortunately, though, they didn't dare truly use their firepower to its full power, since they risked lighting each another up.

Freak managed to get to the treeline, and ducked, still moving in a sporadic pattern. The humans couldn't track him, so he managed to evade being shot again, disappearing in, perhaps, the same manner that Nasher had seemed to, just moments prior.

The li-tigon then felt a strange, strange need. He turned, ignoring the numerous _crack-crack-crack_s coming from all around, and the splintering of trees and vegetation all around him. His gunmetal eyes met all of his hunters, one after the other, juts flicking over them, for the most part. Some were tall, some were short, all were thin, some had no hair and some had long hair.

But the particular human that Freak's eyes locked on was as distinctive as… well, the li-tigon himself. He was their leader.

He wasn't unusually tall, nor was his weight remarkable. Dark brown eyes, somewhat lighter skin, a somewhat sharp nose, angled features, short, black hair, cleanly shaven…

The face of his enemy.

And let me tell you—it was _evil_.

Malice, selfishness, and greed were as plain on that face as the growing determination on it. Like the stick-like device he carried, the likes of which Freak were starting to understand, they were dominating, fierce, overwhelming.

The li-tigon tore his gaze off his enemy's, and focused on running harder, faster. The leader of the hunters dropped to a knee, and, a moment later, a sapling just next to Freak was smashed in _half_.

What Freak was thinking of, though, wasn't that, or the dozens of other bullets that ricocheted and blew divots all around him. What he was thinking of… was the fact that he'd just been responsible for the removal of another female from her mate. That he'd just, in effect, ruined yet another life.

"I'm sorry… for tearing another family apart…" the li-tigon murmured, as, finally, the slew of gunfire chasing him lessened.

He was whispering, so he was speaking to himself. He knew no one was listening, and so, expected no reply.

He felt guilt—enough guilt for tearing Asal from one being. He didn't need to know what was revealed to him next.

Because, from a yard, or ten yards, or a hundred yards away—Freak would never truly know—Nasher roared, and called out, in a voice strangled with pain, rage, and hopelessness, "I and any Gods worth worshipping curse you, you freak, for taking my daughter's mother away from her—forever!"

"Curse you!"

* * *

(Next chapter will be along sometime next month. I'm working on My Name, for now. This is the Lion Sheikh of fanfiction… see you soon.)

* * *


	19. Exile V: Fall of the Banghar Clan

The Lion King: The Freak  
Chapter 19: Exile V: Fall of the Banghar Clan

* * *

(I'm surprised that I'm on track to complete this chapter on schedule! Let's hope my good luck prevails. In contrast with the previous chapter, this one will be heavy on action and light on boring sh—that is, other stuff. Bad language will be kept to a minimum, but there is going to be plenty of reasonably intense violence in this chapter. Don't worry; if you've gotten through the fanfiction so far, you should be good. Almost forgot—there's a bit of humor in this chapter that's unlike anything I've hit you with before. Read on to find out what it is, and how it relates to the title.)

* * *

_Damn._

No, wait—let's try that again.

_Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaamn._

That's what most beings not native to Hindustan would have said, just then. Not Freak, though. The li-tigon was silent by nature, and, with no one to talk to, he had no reason to waste words.

Instead, his awe was expressed in silence. It was expressed by the way he sometimes stopped, from time to time, just shaking his head in wonder… That, and the fact that he had given up traversing through the treetops to _swim_ through them.

I'm not kidding: this Hindustani storm, the opening attack of the Season of the Rains, was some kind of intense.

Freak had survived serious weather conditions before. In fact, before his second year passed, he'd found out the sense in toughening up his home in the southern portion of the Jungle against water and mud and whatever it might bring with it… the hard way.

* * *

(Note: Just to clarify, Freak's log is closed off at both ends.)

_"Should have prepared better. Should have reinforced log's walls with mud and moss. Should have barricaded entrance. Should have readied escape route and alternative, temporary shelter. Now, I'll pay for these mistakes. Fortune favors the prepared, and misfortune favors the unprepared. I may not live through this storm."_

To be honest, Freak's grim acceptance of whatever fight might befall him was a little extreme, a little uncalled for. On the other hand, the li-tigon was, after all, hoping for the best, but preparing for the worst, mentally… erm, perhaps he wasn't so heavy on the hopeful part.

But still.

By now, he'd stayed at the log for a good few months. He'd grown, some, but the slowly-decaying structure was still very roomy and very comfortable for him; in fact, he was considering putting in a Jacuzzi and new kitchenette—that is, the li-tigon cub had no plans of leaving the log anytime soon. It was certainly an adequate shelter for him, ninety five percent of the time.

But it had its flaws, and these flaws were compounded by the cloudburst that had extended, expanding into a day-long thunderstorm that was, even then, saturating the Jungle with wave after wave of water.

Above the treetops, beyond the canopy, winds were high and the rain flew sideways. But on the forest floor, Freak was protected from the cold and the stinging, potentially injurious rain. But all that water had to go somewhere, regardless.

So, resultantly, the Jungle floor was slowly being swamped under first centimeters, then inches of water. Already, if Freak was to leave his log, he'd be up to his neck in water, and he wasn't a good swimmer. Worse, the storm showed no signs of ending, and Freak was struggling to rearrange what moss and organic material there was in the log to hem the slowly growing number of leaks in its outer shell. It wasn't a battle he was winning.

The li-tigon cub was dirty; a trickle of mud trailed down his right eyebrow, falling over his scarred eyelid. The mahogany-tan of his fur was darkened by saturation with soil, and the small mane that he had was no longer visible, flattened against his chest and neck with dampness.

Hopefully, the rain would let up soon. If it didn't, the level of the water outside would exceed the height of the log, and Freak's home would be flooded. He'd have to leave, and try to swim… somewhere. Perhaps he'd be able to wait out the storm in a tree, but after that, he'd have to find new shelter.

A loud clap of thunder followed a fur-rising strike of lightning not far away that lit up the log's dark inside for a moment. Freak worked faster still, but then, for some reason, suddenly froze. Assuming a fighting stance, he backed away to the far end of the log, then one that was struck by the flow of water first. The open top was a few feet in front of him, so if something came pouring in, the li-tigon cub would be safe, for a moment at least.

The log's opening was shielded from rain by a tall, strong tree next to it. But there was nothing shielding it from attack from another angle.

Now, before the Lion Sheikh explains to you exactly what happens next, you have to understand just how stressed and jumpy Freak was at this point. It was storming, hard, and the only home he'd ever known was in imminent danger of catastrophic failure. He was tired from about an hour of hard work, and hadn't eaten for some time—he wasn't in the best of conditions.

There was a finger or so of rain that had collected in the bottom of the log, and the large, blood-warm drops that continued to fly from the sky made large, dirty splashes in the collected water when they struck it. Sporadically, the Jungle was lit up by sudden, intense blasts of lightning, so powerful that dull, throbbing afterimages burned into Freak's eyes.

Add to that a large, dangerous, panicked foe, and Freak had a situation ripe for disaster.

When the fish came, it didn't come in peace. It breached and entered Freak's home, smashing through the log's top, blasting off large, thick splints of wood. One moment, Freak was standing in tense, prepared caution, ready to fight for his life. The next, he was doing it.

It was a catfish—a big one. Built like a torpedo, its gray, slimy, naked form was as big around as Freak.

The being made its way to the back of the log, managing to swim in the little bit of water that there was. Its tail splashed water into the li-tigon cub's face, making him sputter and gasp for breath, struggling to keep his eyes open in case he was attacked. The whole time, Freak couldn't ignore the nagging warning in the back of his skull, telling him that he needed to keep securing the walls of his home.

But at the same time, the li-tigon couldn't help but feel just a little sympathy for the catfish. For all he knew, the nonsentient had been flushed out of its home by sheer water force, or a predator, and forced into an unknown, hostile environment. Even now, the catfish was gasping for breath—it wasn't going to live long, unless it got out of the log and back into water.

Freak's sympathy died, though, as the fish reached the end of the log, and turned. Its eyes were frightened, helpless, but threatening, as they met the li-tigon's. Instantly, Freak calculated, even as the fish struggled towards him, seeing him as an obstacle between itself and escape.

The fish had its spiny fins extended, and thus, blocked most of the log with either its body or the threat of getting skewered with a venomous stinger. Odds of scampering past the catfish, perhaps after a feinted attacked, were slim, especially when the fish's thrashing motions and the li-tigon's lack of energy were factored in. Even if Freak did manage to get out of the log, what then? He'd either have to swim for dear life, or sit and pray that his log held out. Neither contingency was desirable for the li-tigon.

But he didn't want to fight, either. He was tired and he was wet and he was cold, and he only wanted to survive. Hell, in the state the li-tigon was in, he might have even been willing to negotiate, to share his home with the catfish. But you can't negotiate with a non-sentient anymore than you can negotiate with a doorknob.

Still, Freak found himself pressed to the far end of the log, not in fear, but in reluctance to fight a fight he wasn't apt to win. But then, slowly, grim determination took over, and the li-tigon extended his claws, bouncing on his paws to both warm his muscles and psyche himself up.

"My home. This is my home. Not yours. You need to leave. So, leave now. Leave now, or I'll kill you. Do it. Now. I'll kill you. I'm not lying. I will kill you to defend what's mine."

For a moment, Freak dared hope that the catfish had been scared out of assault by the assertive, defensive posture he took. The non-sentient froze, for a second…

But then, it attacked.

It wasn't smart, though; it jumped into the air in a long dive, and tried to take hold of Freak in its jaws. Rather than dodging or parrying, though, the li-tigon cub met force with force.

Shifting to the side, a little, Freak moved forward, just a little. That gave him space and the brief advantage of distance. His right paw picked up off the log's floor, turned, sharp claws flashing, and slammed upwards into the catfish's floating jaw.

They pierced through skin and flesh without difficulty, inducing massive blood loss instantly. Additionally, the force of the blow coupled with the li-tigon's slight sidestep put him out of the fish's line of attack. It's momentum carried it on, so that Freak's claws sliced open its belly. Ichor and entrails spilled, but the li-tigon didn't turn—the catfish was no longer a threat. He faced forward, face not quite emotionless—harsh satisfaction cast a somewhat disquieting overlay across his young features, as he practically whispered; the rainstorm quieting as if to let his voice be heard.

"I told you."

* * *

Oh, Freak had lived through that storm, of course. His log had held out, if barely, and the first thing the li-tigon cub had done when the rains had subsided was to cake it with clay-rich mud, strengthening it.

But the Hindustani Season of the Rains made that cloudburst seem like a drizzle.

For two full days, now, the skies hadn't cleared. A more or less constant torrent of rain soaked the land to its bone, and Freak had to pause, clinging to a tree, to acknowledge a great deal of respect for any beings that managed to live through the Season of the Rains.

_"I may not live through this storm, either."_

Freak sniffed a few times, and looked around. His senses of smell and hearing and taste and touch were useless, more or less, due to the rainfall; he had to rely almost solely on sight. And even then, the Rains limited visibility to only a few dozen yards. The li-tigon had to trust fate to not throw him into the hands of hunters, or the Banghar Clan, or that tiger, because he couldn't avoid them on his own.

He was carried downstream, like everything else, towards a churning river that had long since overfilled. Freak didn't bother to try to stop himself; he allowed the water to shove him along as it might, only taking the trouble to keep his head above water. He needed to keep moving no matter what, so he might as well take advantage of the Rains for that small favor.

Everything Freak saw was gray. It seemed as if the Rains had washed away color itself; the unending, unrelenting bucketing of water down on Freak obfuscated his vision down to almost the point of uselessness.

Maybe there was something underwater.

_"I might as well check,"_ Freak thought dully, _"I have nothing better to do."_

On that note, the li-tigon took in a deep breath, then plunged his head below the surface.

The water might have been described as icy—but it wasn't all that cold. No, Freak had just grown accustomed to Hindustan's scorching heat. Still, he'd been in the water for a few hours, now, and had long since grown accustomed to them. He wasn't complaining.

Flooded with water, things certainly looked different. In a feline approximation of doggy-paddle—a stable, sustainable, controllable style of swimming that let Freak move slowly, getting as good a view as possible—he saw grasses dancing, as if trapped in slow motion, in the gallons and gallons of water that drowned them. The current at the surface was fast, but down here, it seemed, the same didn't hold true. Flowers and branches and plants seemed to sway, gyrating in a macabre waltz, but Freak paddled back to the rapidly moving surface. There was nothing to see.

Maybe, though, he could gain a vantage point, somehow, and scout out the area around him, or at least get his bearings. Of course, the probability of achieving either objective was low, but Freak had nothing better to do. He'd prefer to be doing _some_thing, or trying to, than to just float along, uselessly.

The gharials had trained Freak well, and he used the skills he'd learned from them to swim, strongly, out of the water's most powerful currents to trees that, for the moment, were still standing. One in particular towered another ten feet above the water's turbulent surface. The li-tigon extended his claws and latched onto it, but the water dragged at him. He was going to have to fight for every inch, but it was alright. He was in no hurry.

Well, he was in no hurry, until he saw… that.

Revolted, the li-tigon ran straight up the tree's side, and stood on a thick, powerful branch. His tail was soaked, so that prevented it from growing bushy, but it still lashed around rapidly, wringing water off that was quickly replaced by the huge, blood-warm drops that continuously soaked the land.

_"At that time, they said that the cubs and the food would wait. I assumed that they were leaving their children behind, perhaps with a small guard contingent, so that they'd be safe from… me. But this Season, it seems, is _bad_. So… I suppose there is, perhaps, the merest taste of logic to this…"_

Not that that made it acceptable, or easier to watch. And Freak wasn't one to be easily shaken by the sight of blood—the li-tigon had a strong stomach. He'd drank milk from his dead mother before his hour alive had ended—just for example, y'know. In case you forgot, or something.

But really, there's nothing—no, correction. There may have been a few things that could have prepared Freak for what he saw, then, but they're so far removed from plausibility and appropriateness that the Lion Sheikh won't speculate on their nature.

Freak had killed the young and the old before. He'd massacred, he'd decimated foes to such an extreme degree that their bodies couldn't be recognized. But he'd done it for food or some reasonable purpose, and he'd shown his enemies _respect_. This… it was different.

The Banghar Clan, it seemed, had more children than Freak remembered; that might have something to do with the fact that they were the last thing on his mind when he'd seen them—their parents were of slightly more concern to him.

Now, though, the mongoose cubs were floating along, dipping above and below the water's surface…

Headless. Limbless. Cut open and gutted. Slaughtered.

It was gut-churning for even the li-tigon; he had to lean over and retch. Spitting, once, to clear his maw of the bitter taste in it, Freak looked up, just in time to see a pathetically small, infantile body bump into his tree, bounce off, arms spinning as if in some twisted approximation of a dance, before moving on.

Panting, breathing hard, Freak found himself wondering, disgusted, if his spiritual enlightenment had weakened his tolerance for death and destruction, and if that was necessarily a bad thing. But then, he was distracted, and stood bolt upright. Tail freezing, his ears perked up, and he stared, squinting, trying to penetrate the rain and the water vapor that resulted from it. He heard something, something soft and high-pitched and fast approaching.

The sounds Freak was hearing were, in fact, a series of squeals, of pleas for help. And, a second later, the li-tigon saw their source.

It was a tigress, a tigress kitten, in fact, that was only a hundred feet or so away. Wide-eyed, Freak watched her struggle to keep her head above the water, even as the powerful currents and waves buffeted her light, hapless form around with neither mercy nor regard.

She couldn't see the li-tigon, but Freak could see her. Shaking his head off, once, so that long, triangular spikes of fur rested against his face, he watched, soundlessly, as she passed him.

_"She can't swim…"_

Indeed, it was a wonder that she'd been able to stay afloat for so long as it was. The kitten disappeared from Freak's sight for a moment, as a wave crashed over her. But when it cleared… she was no longer there at the surface.

She was under it.

Freak could see her form fall, slowly, underwater. She struggled, weakly, but there was no hope for her, none at all. Not unless he risked his own life to save her—she was heading directly for a long stretch of treacherous, rocky rapids. Even if the li-tigon tried to help her now… he could easily be torn apart by the powerful, rolling sea.

Struggling with himself mentally as well as physically, claws clenching and unclenching from the tree, Freak's muscles were tense—half were trying to propel him into the water, towards the kitten, but the other half were holding him back, stopping him from doing the same.

_"I should leave her for the dead. After all, I have to get back to the Land of the Spirits to help more beings there; I can't risk my life for one, here…"_

A second had passed. Freak saw the kitten's form fall ever further, down towards a watery grave, a far, far too early water grave… and acted.

He leaped out into the air, folding up his paws so that his form was as aerodynamic as possible. Taking in as big of a breath as possible, he looked, quickly, and saw that if he was lucky, he _might_ be able to drag the kitten to safety before they both reached the rapids. Maybe.

Freak struck the water, slashing into it with a remarkably small splash. Kicking, hard, he opened his eyes, and swam towards the kitten as quickly as he could. Her eyes were closed, by now, and she wasn't moving—she might already be dead… but Freak refused to give up. He was not _trying_ to save her—he was _going_ to save her.

_"I'm risking my life for you, little one. Don't insult me by dying,"_ the li-tigon thought harshly, as he reached the kitten. Opening his jaws, he grabbed her by the scruff of her neck. They were at ground level, now, and Freak kicked off of the soft, yielding jungle floor to try to get back to the surface, back to safety before they were dragged down to the rapids.

His hearing was muffled, and his sight was, too, as a surprising amount of foliage and refuse was in the water. Regardless, the li-tigon knew that he'd have to swim _hard_ if he didn't want to be pulverized by the approaching rapids.

Freak's head broke free of the water's surface. He was still holding the tigress kitten dutifully, though she was unconscious. He was facing the onslaught of water, paddling, hard, as the roar of fluid being broken apart by rocks increased. Glancing over his shoulder, Freak was jolted by the proximity of the rapids, and kicked even harder, using all four limbs to push against the water, to get away from the rapids.

But it was too late, and he knew it.

So, the li-tigon stopped paddling, and turned. Instantly, he and the kitten in his teeth were sucked down, down, into the heart of the churning, frothy water.

Freak tried to avoid rocks and whirlpools and other unduly dangerous parts of the rapids, but it was almost pointless. The current threw him around like he was nothing, squashing the air from his lungs and replacing it with water… but, no matter what, the li-tigon did not allow his jaws to slacken. He was not going to let go of the kitten, no matter what.

How long he was thrown around by the water, how many times he slammed into rocks and logs and how many times he found himself gasping for air but inhaling nothing but water, Freak didn't know. What he did know was that, eventually, he broke free of the rapids, and was able to paddle, slowly, towards dry land on the side of a nearby hill.

Panting, gasping, Freak heaving, and brought up some of the water in him. Rain was washing down the hillside, eroding the relatively dry land away even as the li-tigon stood on it. It threatened to wash away the tigress kitten as well, but Freak placed a powerful, unyielding paw in her way, preventing her from sliding back into the current.

It was then that the grown cat realized that, perhaps, she hadn't survived, or was in desperate need of advanced medical attention. So, he quickly got up, ignoring his exhaustion, and stood over the young feline. Brow furrowed with concern, Freak used a paw to tilt her head to one side, then the other, then closed his eyes, and felt her neck, her chest.

Taking advantage of the brief lull in the craziness to calm himself, a little, Freak slowly sighed, and drew his paw away. She was alive and healthy, though unconscious.

_"I'm glad to see my efforts weren't in vain,"_ the li-tigon thought, as he slumped over between her and the raging, roaring water with the intent of taking a very, very long catnap, _"I suppose I'll just wait here, with her, until she wakes up. What I do after that… is something that should be decided later."_

_" I'm tired."_

Freak didn't fall asleep, really; he wasn't in what the one might call a comfortable position, constantly sliding down the slope of that wet, muddy hill, inches from dangerous, deadly water. He did rest, though, shutting his eyes, and only opening them now and then to check on the kitten in front of him.

Eventually, the rain died down, a little, into a dull, misting din that was actually quite peaceful and even relaxing, therapeutic, for the exhausted li-tigon. He'd been through a_ lot_ in so little time… but, to be fair, that was the story of his life—it was as dynamic and rapid as the churning, stormy river all around him.

Maybe there was a lesson to be learned in that, Freak mused. _"Always be prepared for change… no. Take nothing for granted?... that's good, but I think there's much more to be learned. There always is."_

Things really had quieted down, and though Freak knew that such peace would _not_ last for long in the Season of the Rains, he took advantage of it, and lowered his head, finally going to sleep. When the kitten woke up, he'd be right there for her, and then, together, they'd work out their next move.

Minutes passed.

Then hours.

And then, after even the three-quarters lion freak felt enough discomfort to get up from his sleep, he realized something.

The kitten was not awake, and didn't look like she would wake up for… quite some time yet.

Curled up into a ball, she was whimpering, softly, sometimes saying random or incoherent phrases. "No, Daddy, please, I'm sorry…." or, "I'm hungry..."

Huh. The cub was comatose, like Freak had been for who knew how long when he'd first entered Hindustan.

But what now? The li-tigon had been willing to save her, sure, but he certainly couldn't carry her around forever, right? He wasn't a father, but more to the point, he was being tracked by that tiger, the Banghar Clan, _and_ human hunters as well. He couldn't keep her with him, putting her in danger—and he had important things to do, as well. He had to find some way to find Asal's human friend, or, failing that, find a way back to the Land of the Spirits without assistance… …somehow.

Freak's options left much to be desired, but rather than allowing himself to be overwhelmed, the li-tigon decided to break his goals down into simple, achievable objectives, and focus on those objectives individually: first things first.

_"My first concern,"_ the li-tigon thought, stretching, a little, glad to feel his muscles back in working order, _"is to care for this cub, of course. I'll hunt something and feed her if I have to, but I need to find someone willing to take responsibility for her, because I can't. I'm not a father, and… I don't think I ever will be."_

_"So. I need someone, here in Hindustan, someone totally selfless, totally ready to accept a feline cub, a predator, into his house and nurse her back to health. I need someone that can offer her protection, food, and medical care…"_

_"…"_

_"I'm ashamed that it's taken me so long to think of them."_

_"Salim, and his family… they'll take her in."_

_"They took me in, and I am certain beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this kitten will be a better guest, and better company, than I. Look at her…"_ Despite her pathetic condition and the fact that she'd just been doused more thoroughly than was healthy, the young tigress was strikingly beautiful. Shit—looking at her, Freak felt a strange sense of déjà vu; Asal bore some resemblance to her…

Pah. Impossible. That would be _too_ coincidental, and Asal's husband would never neglect his daughter, and Asal's, to a degree that she would find herself in such a situation. No—this cub was an orphan. That, or her parents were so abusive and neglectful that they shouldn't even be considered parents.

Still, though, the kitten had light fur: an almost pure-white underbelly, that spread out and threatened to envelope her form. Light orange topped her fur, as if God had ground a whole lot of cinnamon on top of her prior to birth, and reddish stripes licked up the tigress kitten's sides like long, slim tongues of flame. A strawberry ice-cream nose finished the look of an absolutely delectable—that is, gorgeous creature.

Freak hated being sidetracked, but what was his alternative? Wander around Hindustan, endlessly, seeking out humans, praying that eventually he'd just come across Asal's friend? He'd spend the rest of his life a nomad, if he tried that. No… the li-tigon had an immediate objective. For now, it was best to focus on accomplishing it.

_"I'll take her to Salim and the gharials. I'll ask them if they know anything about humans that might be friendly to my cause, or if they can somehow help me. If I'm unlucky on both fronts, which is a near certainty…"_

_"…Then, I suppose, I'll just have to bait every single human I come across. Eventually, I'll either find Asal's friend."_

_"Or I'll die."_

_"…No, I… won't die. I've lived through so much… no. No human or group of humans is going to kill me. Either I'll find Asal's friend, or I'll _walk_ back to the Land of the Spirits. I don't care if I wear my paws to the bone—I refuse to abandon my friends and family."_

By the time Freak had arrived at that conclusion, he was on the move again. The kitten's neck scruff was in his jaws, as he began to swim. The water was freezing, but the li-tigon didn't have to get through that much of it to make it to higher grounds.

Shaking himself off, as the rain had let up totally for at least some time, Freak looked up at the sky. It was thick and gray and angry, churning with water that demanded to fall. The sun wasn't easily visible, but a dim, glowing, circular outline said that it was the middle of the afternoon.

Hindustan, Freak noted, as he walked along, still carrying the cub in his jaws, looked totally different wet. Branches and leaves and plants were no longer rigidly vertical; they sagged with the weight of the water that had collected on them or beaten them into submission.

The country looked somewhat bleak and hopeless, but the li-tigon knew that life would spring back, the moment the Rains ended. Life would go on—it always did, somehow.

That lifted Freak's spirits, a little, even as he repeated his situation to himself, mentally. He was being chased by three distinct groups, two of whom might be cooperating with one another. He had exactly one group of allies, that was miles off, and separating him from them were countless rivers, rapids, beings that might alert the Banghar Clan and even the hunters themselves to his presence, as well as a practically total lack of prey.

Things weren't looking good, but the li-tigon refused to be depressed. He wasn't working for his own good—if he was, he'd just have run far away, perhaps to the north, to Asal's homeland at the Feet of the Himalayas and hole up there… for the rest of his life.

But he had countless beings in the Land of the Spirits to worry about, not to mention the cub in his jaws. He couldn't run away.

The li-tigon sighed. Things were never easy or simple… not for someone with a large circle.

Of the few comforts to Freak, though, was the kitten he was carrying. He couldn't say why, exactly, but perhaps it had something to do with her gender, or age.

_"After all, the Dark One did say that there's something about females that is… incredibly soft. I don't know if he was being literal, or metaphorical, or both; but either way, I agree. The time I've spent among others is also time I've spent around females."_

_"She's a cub, too. I remember—Uvuli and I used to be great friends… or, at least, as good of friends as I can be with anyone. This little one is younger than Uvuli is now, though… Uvuli, by now, won't just be a cub anymore, will she?... no, she won't. She's too young to be an adult, though. She'll be a juvenile, when I see her again… if I see her again…"_

_"I wonder how she's changed. I wonder how she's grown. I can't wait to see her."_

Freak had been thinking to himself to prevent from growing cold and paranoid; jumping at every random sound or sight or smell. He was still paying very, very close attention to his surroundings—he'd been ambushed by hunters twice, now, but he'd learned his lesson. Several times, he came across large, treeless plains, flooded with water. When he did, he either circled around them, or threw the kitten on his back and either sneaked his way through them, or just swam through them as quickly as possible. So far, he'd been lucky enough to not come under fire.

Rather quickly, it started to rain again. Freak was a little tired, by then, from the day of hard hiking and swimming, and took refuge, at least for a few minutes, under a group of trees with large, broad, thick leaves—a practical tent.

The sky and the earth alike were dark, again; black storm clouds totally blotting out what sunlight had originally been offered to Hindustan. Under that canopy, Freak felt protected, cozy, even and sat down, gingerly placing the kitten in front of him.

The Season of the Rains really was something. Gallons of water spilled down from the leaves that protected Freak every second, creating a sheer, thin waterfall around him that didn't decrease in intensity or volume for even a second. The blurred, washed view of Hindustan Freak had was ominous, but enticed what slight, vague affinity for adventure the li-tigon had—a lifetime of combat and hardship had almost crushed the desire for unnecessary conflict from him totally.

Lightning strobed on and off, without warning, blasting the environment with bright, white light. Freak felt grateful that he'd been able to find such a rare, protected little abode—things wouldn't clear up even a little until the next morning, at least. And who knew—maybe this little oasis would attract prey seeking shelter from the rain as well.

All in all, things seemed to have culminated to create a situation that just screamed at Freak to relax, stop worrying, and sleep.

Still, though, the li-tigon was reluctant.

He was still new to Hindustan, and, for all he knew, he could be in the middle of a Banghar Clan outpost. Even if he wasn't, the mongooses were certain to check the shelter, eventually, or use it in their search for Freak.

Still, staying put and resting beat his alternatives in both desirability and actual utility. If Freak left now, he'd just exhaust himself, and soak himself and the kitten to the bone, making them walking condominiums for who knew what kinds of sicknesses.

Sighing, Freak began to lick his paws—they weren't particularly dirty, as any grime that had collected on them was summarily rinsed off by the same environment that created it. Still—it was relaxing, and allowed the li-tigon a few seconds to just calm, breathe deeper, and even meditate, a little.

Eventually, he began to lick the kitten clean, too. She really was something—she hadn't fidgeted or stirred once, the entire day. She'd just quietly allowed Freak to carry her, never waking from her unconsciousness at all.

_"What a tough little cub."_

Freak found that he was just a little envious of her parents, whoever they were, if they were even still alive. From her sporadic whines, he'd surmised that she had had, at least at one point, a father.

_"She really is lucky. I never met my father in life, ever. …I wonder if it's better to have a terrible, abusive father, but a father nonetheless, than no father at all."_

_"I suppose I'll never know."_

After a thorough checking-over to make sure that the young tigress was free of injuries, Freak set her down again. Instantly, she curled up, sighing through her nose… smiling a little, even.

Freak blinked. He didn't know what to do in such a situation, really… but his instincts rarely failed him. So, instead of sitting down near her, the li-tigon rested directly next to her. Of her own accord, the small female nuzzled his side, causing Freak to twitch uncomfortably for a moment, and let out a very soft purr.

_"I wonder what it's like to be a father,"_ Freak thought, as he set his paws one atop the other, before resting his chin on them and allowing his eyes to fall shut. As much needed sleep took over, the li-tigon had another thought.

_"I wonder if I'll ever find out."_

* * *

(Some language below.)

Dawn.

Cloud cover had parted, a little, into long, thin strips of moisture that slashed across the sky like the telltale parallel claw marks of a feline attack. Humidity was dense in the air, and (get this) it was hot, too, in Hindustan, so that the sun's red-orange rays were dissipated in the resulting mist. The giant, peach-colored circle rose, slowly, but to someone watching from the earth, its ascent was not uniform: refraction and the clouds made one dappled slice roll up into view at a time.

It was quite a sunrise for a few reasons: firstly, in the Season of the Rains, it was rare to see the sun without your gaze being hindered by practical swimming pools of water. Secondly, pollution resulting from the not-so-far city was gone, totally gone, due to the Rains themselves.

Finally, it was a blood dawn—or it would be, if the Banghar Clan had its way.

Not all of the mongooses that formed the commune were there, of course: the Clan had split up to cover as much ground as possible. Even during the Season of the Rains, patrols had to be sent out so that the security of the Triangle of Pain was maintained. And now, with such a rare, bizarre-looking cat at large, a cat the Banghar Clan had tried and failed to kill, a cat whose nature confused them, they were at the highest level of readiness. Every waking moment, they were out and about, scouring Hindustan for Freak.

And now, perhaps fifty of them were converging on him, quickly—but noiselessly.

The li-tigon, in fact, was quietly, cozily snoozing. He was worn out from the escapades of the past few days. Laying on his side, with an unidentified tigress kitten against his chest, he was a fruit _ripe_ for the picking.

Seething, claws and teeth bared, the mongooses moved to surround the cats. Making and breaking eye contact, using the smallest, most subtle of paw-signals, they prepared an assault that would sever Freak's jugular before he could react, killing him instantly. The kitten would follow that fate shortly, as well.

One mongoose had been sent off to warn the rest of the Clan, to call them to the position of the killing if, somehow, Freak managed to escape. Flying through the Hindustani jungle, its purpose was as singular and solid as the purpose of those it had left behind.

They weren't far from Freak at all, now, starting to move out of cover. Crawling, tiptoeing, they sneaked closer, closer, and closer to the li-tigon yet.

In the end, it might have been the crack of an unseen twig, or the beat of a pulsating, anticipatory heart, or sheer dumb luck that woke Freak up.

Regardless of what it was, you've got to feel a little sympathy for the li-tigon. He hadn't exactly had things easy recently, or ever, for that matter. But seriously—imagine how much a nice, peaceful, sorely-needed sleep ended with the sight of a dozen drooling, approaching mongooses, hungry for your blood would _suck_.

If you can't imagine, then… try a lot. A whole lot.

_"Oh, sh—"_

No time to think. Time to _move_.

The mongooses saw Freak wake up, and threw caution and stealth to the wind in the time it took for the li-tigon's tired eyes to open fully. Screaming, calling for the blessings of their strange, terrible Gods, their small but viciously sharp claws tore the wet, soggy ground between them and Freak _apart_.

Freak knew better than to roar or threaten or negotiate: these beings were communistic robots. All the li-tigon could do was fight, or get the Hell outta Dodge.

He had the knowledge of his ancestors on his side, though. Sure, he could take fifty mongooses, no sweat. The problem was, though, that they were sure to have sent a runner out to notify the rest of the Clan, and Freak had no idea how far or near they were. No, he couldn't afford to get tangled up in a complicated, lengthy battle.

He had to leave.

And he wasn't the only one that had to leave.

Now, you might think that since the Lion Sheikh has taken the time to explain the intricacies of the li-tigon's position as he himself viewed it, that he was either a deer in the headlights about to be torn the fuck apart… or that he was actually being torn the fuck apart. This is not true: the li-tigon can multitask as well as any of us. Well—Freak doesn't text while driving... I think... But that's beside the point.

He was a blur of motion—first, he countered the wave of flesh that was launched at him by getting up and whipping the rear section of his body around, in a move reminiscent of a kung-fu windmill. This motion caused a great deal of centripetal force that dissipated against the mongooses' bodies, knocking them aside and away. What energy remained was converted to linear velocity, as Freak's paws hit the ground.

His mind hadn't consciously drifted to his silent companion since he'd woken up, but it didn't need to. The action of catching the scruff of her neck in his teeth as he prepared to exfiltrate was as natural as breathing.

Confidence and hope are everything, and Freak had both. Previously, despite severe physical and mental trauma, he'd outrun the entire Banghar Clan—now, armed with a supply of energy and the knowledge of how to deal with Hindustan's harsh but endearing wilderness, he would again be successful.

Picking through trees and thickets large enough to admit him, but small enough to delay the mongooses, Freak sprinted for a full mile, or so. After that, the li-tigon was panting, just a little, but turned, sniffing, and forced himself to hold his breath and listen. Eyes flicking over every thorned, knotted tree, and every mound of dirt, rock and debris that remained unmoved by the Rains, he eventually exhaled in relief, and calmed. He'd left the Clan in the dust.

But Freak couldn't rest on his laurels, and he knew it. At best, he had a few minutes on the mongooses—there! The sound of chillingly close interrogation and violence. No, they weren't far at all. So, to keep his lead, Freak would have to keep moving, and keep moving fast.

On the plus side, though, the li-tigon found that he'd made better time than he'd anticipated. He could find Salim by nightfall without difficulty, if things continued the way they were.

Fate, though, would have otherwise.

Freak was weaving in and out of a grove of mango trees, fur blending into their trunks, when his ear twitched…

The Clan was gathering, en masse.

He didn't have a use for a free second, or an ounce of optimism. Because even if Freak ran fast and hard, the sheer number of mongooses made it very, very likely that his trail, somehow, would be picked up. He'd evaded them all once, but the li-tigon knew better than to think that the communistic mongooses were stupid—they, too, would have learned from their last encounter. Freak couldn't rely on the possibility of just vanishing, slipping out of the practical net the mongooses were no doubt enclosing around him—he wouldn't have trusted his ability to do that even in the Land of the Spirits. And he was still a foreigner to Hindustan—still under the place in the food chain held by its true apex predators: mongooses.

What the li-tigon could do, though, was allow the Clan to catch a glimpse of him, or the taste of his scent in a manner that suggested a certain position and direction… then make a _stealthy_ beeline for some other destination. The strategy was sound, but its implementation would be hard. Freak had benefited from sleep, greatly, but he needed energy—he needed food. He hadn't totally recovered from his self-imposed bout of starvation, or the growth spurt, not totally… but he had no choice.

_"I know what my best option is. There's no point in battling myself or whining about it; no one's listening. I have no choice."_

Freak often took just a few seconds to really wake up, to again become aware of how to fully use his senses. As a near-overload of information and sensation entered the li-tigon's mind, he sharply peered in one direction, then the other.

He knew where he was; that was good. He also knew where Salim's home was; that was better. Now, to pick a trail on which to plant his wild goose chase—there were plenty of possibilities, but Freak didn't have much time.

Sniffing in a number of directions as rapidly as possible, bouncing on his paws to both warm them up and hem the waves of adrenaline bursting into his system, Freak considered…

Then, even as he held the kitten, the li-tigon smiled a smile he hadn't, before. It was small, and brief, but the confident, amused smirk that crossed the li-tigon's face was unmistakable. He had something _nasty _in mind.

Creating as obvious a trail as possible, brushing up against trees and plants alike, the li-tigon timed himself, carefully. The Clan wasn't far away, at all, and he wanted to give himself a few seconds for a margin of error—just in case.

_"They deserve this. And… bah. No point in rationalizing. I need to laugh, and I don't mind that it's at their expense."_ With the final tracks made, and scents laid, Freak sprinted as fast as he possibly could without leaving impressions more than a centimeter or so deep into the terrain. There was mud, and lots of it, but the li-tigon had trodden on grasses and plants—and so, managed to exfiltrate without contest.

Freak was a few hundred yards away when the mongooses hit the point of no return. Their destination… wasn't far.

_"My only regret is that I won't be able to see their faces, when they reach it…"_

* * *

"Smell that wretched, rotting stink? See those careless, lazy tracks?"

The Banghar Clan needed its doses of propaganda, even during the heated pursuit.

They were, originally, spread out in a wide arc. The rationale was that such a formation was the happy median between the ability to cover as much ground as possible, and the ability to converge on their prey as quickly as possible, when it was found.

Instantly, though, things changed—the Clan condensed, forming itself into a long, rectangular spear that barreled through the jungle in a massive, brownish blur.

Thunder roared out, suddenly, but not a mongoose batted an eye. The warning of the Rains could have been a false alarm, and even if it was legitimate, they had a few minutes before Hindustan was, again, soaked. Blasting through waterlogged plants and thickets, they had even more motivation, now, to find Freak as soon as possible—when the Rains came, they'd have to downsize their operations… or call them off entirely. Whereas the accursed li-tigon would never, ever stop running.

Irritatingly, though, the trail, validated by the presence of both visual and odorous clues, died without a trace. Though mortified and stiffened, the Clan didn't speak—they just grew cold and angry; this _had_ to be the path Freak had taken, there was no chance that he'd somehow given their giant, organic net a slip…

Mudslides, pounded into the land by seemingly endless rains, pretermitted the Clan easily. Rather than slowing, or stopping, or scattering in case Freak had misled them, the Banghars remained resolute in their stupidity—I mean, strategy.

Eventually, though, the mongooses started to notice a few things.

One was that they were being admitted along the slick, wet floor just a little too easily. Another was that when they tried to get footing, they couldn't, and just slipped, coating their brown coats with mud.

The other was that the ground's concentration of… how shall I say this… animal waste matter… was slowly but surely increasing.

Indeed, they'd funneled themselves into a long, wide chute from which there was no escape. The Clan's destination was as certain as it was disgusting.

Hindustani animals, you see, had a strong sense of cleanliness. Even before mongooses emerged as their governing body, generations ago, they had an unspoken code of conduct—certain types of business, so to speak, could only be done in certain areas: public restrooms, if you will.

These areas weren't static, of course; overusing one might have terrible, terrible ecological ramifications. What the animals would do was converge, dig a large, wide hole, create paths for their… y'know… to get to it… and then, after a few weeks or months, cover it up and create another one.

The Banghar Clan had its own sanitation system—it was located to the south of the Triangle of Pain; where men dumped their trash, mongooses also… dumped… theirs…

Without getting too graphic, the Lion Sheikh will attempt to describe what happened next.

There was, perhaps, ten feet of… gunk… in the… septic… pit. The Season of the Rains had bloated it, liquefying the… pit's... contents… making them wet, and sloshy; almost water-like in consistency.

There wasn't that much risk of physical injury for the Banghars. Mongooses weren't bad swimmers (though, to be fair, they'd never really tried swimming in such… a, ahem, solution, before), and could break a fall into water without much difficulty.

Karma, it seems, though, really is a bitch.

The slide they were falling down was now almost entirely _not_ mud. And even the highly disciplined Banghars were starting to show signs of unease, and selfishness. Even the loudmouths that blasted Hindustan and their comrades with propaganda almost 24/7 had shut up, as they, like all other mongooses, climbed over one another, trying to find an escape.

But there was no escaping this fate, it seemed.

I suppose I could explain to you how Hindustani diets affected the exact "ingredients" and consistency (and stench) of the practical stew that the Banghars were flying towards, now screaming and yelling in dismay, but I'll spare you the details… save for just one: carrots. Lots of carrots. Lots and lots of half-digested, molding, maggot-infested, rotting carrots.

Incomprehensibility ruled the mongooses, now, as they desperately clung to one another, in an attempt to decrease the, shall we say, impact, on any given individual.

Regardless, as the "slide" broke off into a tall, long-lasting drop, one lone voice rose above the others, echoing throughout Hindustan:

"I can't believe I joined the Banghar Clan for this shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit…"

* * *

_"…That was a _loud_ splat."_

_"Yuck."_

Freak's expression was of grim satisfaction; any amusement he felt on the inside was well hidden on the outside.

Yeah, he was a badass.

The diversion would tack on precious time to the lead the li-tigon had over his pursuers (at least, his nonhuman, non-feline pursuers), but he knew better than to overuse any advantage, perceived or real. He had to keep moving, and he had to remember that two other groups were actively attempting to hunt him down and wipe his story from the pages of time.

He hadn't put the kitten down in hours, and was starting to get cramped from the cold and the exertion of such a hard run.

Blinking, a few times, Freak peered across the terrain for a moment.

Hindustan was as constant as ever: forests, plains, some bodies of water, all mixed together to form a random concoction of almost exactly three components. Hills and other structures were oddities, rare bursts of flavor in an overwhelmingly bland meal.

Freak sighed. He had to keep his spirits up, and constantly looking over the suddenly boring, unattractive landscape… wasn't doing him any good.

The li-tigon forced himself, though, to hold his gaze, for a moment, until he grudgingly accept that, after all, Hindustan wasn't _that_ bad.

Then, he flopped over.

The tree that the li-tigon had selected as his abode was short, but wide. It had thin leaves, but lots of them—rain would penetrate, but not much.

Reflecting on his situation, Freak again found himself licking up the kitten that, sadly, was still unconscious and whimpering. It was somehow fucking freezing in Hindustan; this wasn't right! The Season of the Rains was supposed to be hot and humid. Yet, every time the li-tigon touched water, it sapped at his energy. The weather, it seemed, had either hit a paradigm shift, or was conspiring against him; rendering itself just as much of a threat as the Banghar Clan itself.

_"Everyone is a threat,"_ Freak thought vaguely. He knew, of course, that that wasn't true; the Dark One's efforts hadn't been futile. Still—the occasional generalization was satisfying, in that it _simplified_ things to a point that the li-tigon no longer felt overwhelmed when he faced them.

He was hungry and he was cold and he was tired. The Banghar Clan was out of the picture, for a very short moment, but human hunters and that tiger were still somewhere out there, hungry for his blood. He had a cub to care for; a cub that was unconscious, and in worse condition than he.

_"Spirits… you're too skinny, little one. You're a not a juvenile yet, why are you starving yourself?"_

'Cha. Even feline females, when they hit a certain age, thought that a lack of physical mass was the be-all and end-all of existence and attractiveness.

The kitten's skinniness, though, had a more plausible explanation. Her whimpers and sleep-talk suggested not only hunger, but abuse.

"Your parents, your father… they haven't denied you food, have they?" Freak asked quietly. The li-tigon wasn't really a strong believe in gender-roles, as he'd never see their utility, real or imagined. Sure, in the Pride Lands, the lionesses had (generally) done the hunting, but he never, ever saw any abhorrence of hunting on the part of Mufasa or Kovu.

So, he was, perhaps, just a little guilty of cultural misunderstanding and intolerance.

Maybe he realized it, maybe he didn't. Freak's thoughts were as unreadable as the somber, harsh, accepting expression plastered semi-permanently over his face. Eyes as cold and hard as the polymer-steel body of a pistol, he sat, for a moment, perfectly still.

When he moved, it was in an unexpected and slightly unwonted manner: Freak wrapped one of his large paws around the tigress's body, and pulled her in close. She was resting against his cheek, as the li-tigon set his head down for a _brief_ rest, just a short catnap—he couldn't spare much time.

_"This isn't good, at all…"_ he thought, leaving his eyes open to watch as, again, rain began to crash down, trails of water picking their ways through the tree above him, _"I've delayed the Banghar Clan for some time, but I know now how determined they are to kill me. The humans… want to kill me, too, and their quarrel is probably personal—they've seen me twice, but I still live."_

_"And that tiger…"_

Things weren't good, at all. Freak had no guidance, and no idea of how to achieve a mission vital to the survival of hundreds.

_"Bah. But, I suppose I should count my blessings. Things can't possibly get—"_ a rush of premonition, _"worse…"_

Freak knew, now, to trust this particularly poignant, powerful instinct. He also knew that he had no time, just then, to grab the kitten in his teeth—he needed to go.

Scooping her up in his paw, the li-tigon tossed her into the air. He didn't like it, didn't enjoy it, and even felt real distress when he saw that small, frail body turn, slowly, in midair, before he jumped and cleanly caught her, rolling to his feet a second later.

Then, the tree behind him was smashed with enough power to reduce most of its trunk to splinters.

_"Curses! I hoped they wouldn't find me so soon…"_ Freak was moving fast, again, away from the origin of the shots. Oh, he knew who it was; the wind shifted, giving him a too-late scent that matched with that of the man he'd seen earlier to a T.

At least, now, the li-tigon would certainly reach the gharials by nightfall.

He couldn't dare stop running for at least ten minutes, flitting between this tree and that hill, this pool of water and that depression. The grayish, soaked plants and grasses of Hindustan didn't help the li-tigon's mood, so, when ten minutes had passed, he found that he had no desire to stop running.

Carrying the tigress kitten in his teeth, dutifully, Freak ignored… everything. Or, at least, everything that he could afford to.

Prey? He passed it without its knowledge, and without a second glance. Potential shelters, or at least places to reconstitute inner tranquility and wits? Brushed off.

Even the slightest sign of human or mongoose or feline presence, though, was treated with caution that bordered on irrational paranoia.

Freak didn't stop running until the sweat that ran down his somehow still powerful, still noble fur was flowing as fast as the rain that washed it away.

Panting, quietly, Freak dared set the kitten down for a moment, to hop up into a tree and have a look around. This higher-altitude area… it was familiar, very familiar. That's because the gharials weren't a mile away, and it gave the li-tigon's heart some hope when he realized that he would fulfill a promise he hadn't spoken.

_"I _will_ see Amira, Jahanara, and Tahir again. They'll be so surprised, and happy… and when this little one wakes up, they'll have a new playmate—forever, or, at least, until someone fit to be her parent comes to claim her."_

The Rains, now, weren't pulsating and pounding and rough. They were a constant sort of drizzle, and, due to the suddenly hot environment (for which Freak was grateful), evaporated almost on contact. The result was a thick, steamy mist that blotted out the sun, the sky, and much of the depressing view of Hindustan. It also offered good cover from the hunters—now, Freak could actually walk from point A to point B without an undue amount of fear.

Anticipation growing as his surroundings became more familiar still, he smoothly disembarked from the tree, and again appropriated the smaller feline. The li-tigon moved on, then, padding along quickly but fearlessly, to the lake that was the home of what had to be the most charitable family in all of Hindustan.

Was, as in, used to be.

* * *

"I wonder who could have done this. I wonder who could possibly be so cruel…"

The kitten was at the base of a stout, wide tree where Freak could easily see her. Yet, if she somehow awoke, just then, her view of things would be limited—that was a good thing.

Massacres, you see, generally aren't held to be appropriate viewing for small cubs.

Nothing was left living, in that tragic graveyard. The place reeked of death in a manner that no one that shared anything but a deeply intimate relationship with death could ever hope to understand.

Killing is a thing that is, sadly, sometimes necessary. After all—war, predation, self-defense, just execution and even assassination; these things sometimes have to occur.

But what made these killings real tragedies was the manner in which the gharials had been annihilated.

Their homes were destroyed, the neat enclosures and structures ravaged beyond repair. Dams that carefully regulated the flow of water in and out of the lake were broken, so that it would never again be in that carefully measured sweet spot between famine and flooding—it would always be at one extreme, or the other. At that point in time, there was only a few inches of water in it, despite the Season of the Rains.

There were flies around, lots of them. The air was so thick that Freak could hardly walk two feet without being swarmed, but there was no use in waving one of his large paws to get them to leave—there was simply too much food around for them to do so.

Who did this, and why they did it, though… these were questions that could easily be answered, after some reflection.

_"The Banghar Clan did this. No one else has the power to, and they did it to send a message. Somehow, they found out that the gharials helped me, or something… and they reacted."_

Many of the gharials were eaten, partially—the Banghar Clan had taken the best, most perishable of their meat (such as eyes, livers, and hearts) and consumed it on the spot and cut away much of the rest to store for the Season of the Rains.

There was evidence to suggest that some had been eaten alive.

Tahir, for instance, had been skewered to a tree, tied to it with a series of thin, strong vines. Face set, forever, in a grimace of the utmost of agony, his entrails had been pulled out with a stick and hung, rotting, out of his belly. Neat round holes had been chewed through his leather-like skin—easy entrance paths for infection, bacteria, and a particularly slow, painful death… made that much more bitter by what the young gharial must have had to watch going on all around him in his final moments.

Jahanara had a single, long cut across her back, almost surgical in nature. After that, though, her skin had been pulled half-off, effectively butterflying the young gharial, exposing her flesh for untold legions of insects to gorge themselves on.

Salim was nowhere to be seen. But that was alright—Freak wasn't sure that he would have liked to see his old friend, not in the state he was sure to be in.

Needless to say, blood and worse was everywhere. What little water remained in the lake was a gruesome shade of mauve—it would become a haven for mosquitoes and vermin of all kinds, and the stench about it wouldn't disappear for weeks. And even then… this part of the world, this little patch of Hindustan… now, it was tainted forever with the blood of the young, the old, the weak—vitally, the blood of the innocent. Freak wasn't a strong believer in what many of us think of as ghosts… but if haunted places in the world existed, this would no doubt become one of them.

_"What now? Salim was my last option. How am I going to find Asal's friend? And who's going to take care of her—"_

Freak was a stealthy being, he really was. He'd outwitted a python responsible for the deaths of dozens as well as practically locking down a significant chunk of the Jungle before his first year passed by hiding from it. He'd slipped away from dozens of foes before, and had almost single-handedly destroyed an alliance that threatened to tear his mother's homeland apart on a black operation.

He was not, however, in a class of his own. Vitani had been stealthy. Sarafina was stealthy as well, albeit in a different manner. There were also Hindustani animals that were stealthy.

Such as Banghar mongooses.

He turned just in time, and the sight he saw tore his heart apart.

There were perhaps a half-dozen of the diminutive but murderous creatures. Needle-like teeth bared in twisted, menacing grins, on their retreating backs was the tigress cub…

"NO!" Freak roared—perhaps a little foolishly; it did give his position away.

The mongooses didn't have a chance, though, to just drop the kitten and run. Freak was on them before they could even react.

A vicious paw strike knocked one into a tree. Its skull cracked, so that bits of bone and brain and blood painted the trunk a dark, purplish maroon. The soaked ground had plenty of give to it, and Freak was able to use that to his advantage—he slid, tackling the rest of the mongooses as he caught the kitten in his teeth.

It was then that the li-tigon realized the folly of his actions. Getting to his feet, outrage was replaced, instantly, by cold, gripping fear.

_"No..."_

In desperation, Freak put the kitten down, and chased after the fleeing mongooses. There were only a few of him, and if he'd been smart, he could have taken them all out—possibly. But they'd scattered, so that the li-tigon could only pursue one at a time.

Within seconds, Freak gave up—he turned around, and sprinted back the way he'd come. Momentarily pausing to pick the tigress cub up, he ran on, knowing that the Banghars he'd just encountered were now on their way to tell the rest of their Clan.

They'd be swarming all over the area within the hour.

So, if Freak wanted to live, he had to leave the area.

Hissing in anger at himself for being so short-sighted, he now started the tricky, largely unsuccessful effort of masking his trail. But the muddy ground and the tendency of mud to preserve tracks meant that he was best off getting to a valley, finding a lake or river of some sort, and swimming.

_"That won't be too hard,"_ Freak thought grimly, zigzagging his way down a hillside: the Rains had started again.

* * *

_"A thousand curses. I'm hungry…"_

_"But I have to prioritize. More important than my hunger is that murderer. He may be a little bigger and stronger than me, but I'm the best fighter in this land… now, without contest…"_

After all… Asal was dead.

_"He's a foreigner, too. Well… he'll never see his homeland again, because I'm going to kill him. For my wife, and my daughter… and for me. He won't live much longer, now…"_

_"And, after I kill him, I'll go after Kochai. I know that she's here, somewhere… she'll be alright for a few days yet without food. When I come to her, though… it'll be with food, and apology. I'll repent for what I did to her, earlier…"_

Complicating Nasher's tracking was the fact that he had to evade the Banghar Clan—they were in the area, but the tiger knew how to avoid their detection in a manner that the Dark One could never show Freak… the liger was blind.

Nasher was moving quickly, face twisted into a snarl that was so dark it seemed that it would never lighten. His coat offered plenty of camouflage, and moving quickly and quietly was a skill he'd learned—he'd _had_ to learn—in cubhood. Leaves rustled only slightly as he brushed by them, always approaching his goal.

Panting, a little, the tiger paused, sniffing—good. He was on the right track.

Storm clouds were rolling in, again, and Nasher knew that they'd slow him down, some… but they'd also slow down that killer.

Thunder roared out… and, suddenly, Nasher's eyes widened. Skidding to a halt, his angry expression fell, giving way to a look of utter shock and horror.

_"No…"_

_"Kochai!"_

The kitten's scent had appeared, but this hadn't inspired hope or confusion in her father. That's because it had appeared… directly on top of the one he was tracking.

His daughter had been taken hostage, it seemed. What other conclusion was there? What else would her mother's murderer want with such an innocent, defenseless kitten?

_"So… you don't have any sense of honor at all, you son of a dog. That's alright—I'll match your lack of scruples with a lack of _mercy_."_

"…ABOMINATION!"

Nasher had been controlling his anger, for a few seconds; but then, that black, churning, lava-like emotion had overfilled. Now, it was pouring out, evident in the tiger's body language, and the startling addition of speed to his motions.

Tearing off through Hindustan faster than ever, now, he felt a grim sense of pride, despite his desperation.

He'd found a good scent trail. And now, he was going to follow it to its source…

And make it _bleed_.

* * *

_"I think I've been running long enough."_

That, or he was just making an excuse for taking a break—not that he needed one. The li-tigon was exhausted from hours of running in impossible conditions, without a bite of food or a second of rest.

Freak was panting, breath shallow and ragged, as he slowly halted. The Banghar Clan hadn't found him, and signs were good—they seemed to have been thrown off by his tendency to take long, roundabout, looping, backtracking routes, often through water.

As far as the human hunters went, they'd probably be deterred by the weather. Sunset was soon, but it was already almost pitch black, and raining, hard. This part of Hindustan was heavy on plains, light on trees; so, there was nothing to break the wind apart or stop it from growing powerful and _hard_. Even the powerful, large li-tigon had a hard time keeping his footing and plodding on, lowering his head to break the wind as much as he could, all the time holding the kitten tightly so she wouldn't be blown away from him.

The wind and rain were, together, blasting Freak's fur so that it stuck out behind him in spikes, giving him a somewhat ridiculous appearance. The li-tigon's ears were flattened to protect this hearing from the howls of the atmosphere and the clashes of thunder that were echoing across the land. Eyes opened no more than a millimeter or two, he peered around, desperately, searching for cover.

There were no mountains in Hindustan, or at least the part of Hindustan that Freak was familiar with. Sometimes, though, there were rocky hills… so there was a possibility of taking shelter next to one, or inside a cave or outcropping of some sort.

_"Finally…"_ Freak thought, closing his eyes again as he turned, a little, planting his feet for a second to accept the brunt of a massive torrent of water, _"There…"_

About a thousand yards off, there was a hill. It was nestled against the treeline of a much thicker forest, in comparison to the grassy terrain Freak was cutting through, only occasionally having to avoid trees or foliage.

Freak's mile was fast—much less than three, maybe even two minutes. But that was on level ground, in good or normal conditions. Now, he was traveling over a rugged, rough terrain, directly against storm wind and rain more intense than he had ever experienced before.

It took him fifteen minutes, at least, to travel those thousand yards.

Luckily, though, there was an outcropping in the rugged, harsh hillside. It wasn't much more than a rocky arch that straddled a fifteen or twenty foot deep depression that would, if nothing else, offer some protection from the wind and rain and cold. Exhausted, Freak crawled in, set the kitten down, and collapsed.

A few hours later, the li-tigon woke up to conditions similar to the ones he'd fallen asleep to. It was quite dark outside, and still _very_ windy. There was a little less rain, but it was still chilly—the outcropping hadn't held in the body heat of the two felines inside it well, at all.

Still, Freak couldn't complain. He no longer felt tired, and, as he stood, stretching a little, felt thankful for this new, thicker coat—he was quite cozy in it.

Wait, the kitten—where was she? Freak looked around, but didn't spot her light form against the sea of dark rocks.

_"No… she couldn't have been stolen from right under my nose! No—"_

Freak was right… she couldn't have been stolen from right under his nose. That's because she'd never left it.

In her sleep, the tigress had apparently crawled up from where Freak had set her down, at his side, and curled up in the warm, protected cavity near his forepaws and chin. She was on her side, in an awkward-looking but apparently comfortable position—on her face was a smile, and she wasn't whining or whimpering anymore. Though, she did attempt to latch onto Freak's forearm and pull him down, wanting that soft source of heat again.

The li-tigon couldn't help but smile. So far, this kitten had been nothing but trouble for him… but she sure was endearing, and cute. She was definitely growing on him, despite the fact that he hadn't yet spoken a word to her.

But she'd had plenty of time to rest, now. So maybe he'd be able to get her up, at least for a few minutes, and try to figure a few things out… like, who her parents were, where they were, and if she somehow knew about humans that were _friendly_ to felines.

Yeah. Right.

Still, there might be much to learn from the kitten. It was, at least, worth a try.

Freak shook himself off, once, as he considered how to do this. Looking down, blankly, he realized that she was tugging insistently at his paw, silently complaining that she was cold, and wanted to be warm.

Maybe the li-tigon could have woken her up by totally leaving her to the elements for a moment or two, but that wasn't his style. No, he'd learned mercy and compassion from the Dark One. Maybe it was time to implement one of the things he'd learned.

The li-tigon lowered himself, closing his eyes. Instantly, he felt the tigress cub purring, snuggling into the warm against his face, and took in a deep breath.

He didn't let it out, immediately, as he concentrated hard.

Attempting to probe the kitten's mind, he was, for a time, unsuccessful. But, every now and then, the li-tigon felt her presence, shy and fearful but begging for protection, just under a thin veil of unconsciousness.

It took patience and a lot of effort, in the form of gentle, repeating coaxing… but, eventually, as he opened his eyes, Freak saw that he was successful.

She wasn't smiling anymore, of course. And she no longer seemed to feel protected and warm near Freak; instead, she'd moved as far away from him as the outcropping would allow and sat, shivering, wet eyes focused on the ground.

Freak's expression was unreadable, blank. He said nothing, but his lips twitched, once or twice, like the cuffed tip of his tail.

Then, he left.

* * *

He had said nothing to the kitten, and, to be fair, it was doubtful that she even realized his departure. The wind and rain howled on, and, only eventually when she looked up did the tigress cub realize that she was alone. Her eyes widened at that and she mewled sadly, sniffling… it really did seem that no one loved her. She turned away from the outcropping's opening, eyes wet, and started to cry.

"What's wrong, little one?" said a voice, from the outcropping's entrance. Though the speaker seemed to be trying to sound kind and generous, there was a sort of savage brutality in his voice. The kitten jumped, and, wiping her eyes with a paw desperately to see, looked up, preparing to flee—she was in no condition to fight.

But then, the blackened silhouette's scent reached her nose. Twitching once, then twice, as the kitten blinked, forgetting her fear to a degree, standing up, she realized that this was the one that had been carrying her so dutifully, for so long—protecting her from who knew what sort of hazards.

But he was still scary.

_"He's bigger than Father, a lot bigger,"_ the kitten thought, backing away unconsciously, as the figure entered the outcropping, now only feet from her.

He stopped, for a moment, and shook himself off. She realized that he'd been nudging something along with his paw, since he'd entered the dry little abode, but didn't dare look at it. Her eyes were starting to adjust to the light, so, as he made that one, final step towards her… she saw him.

He certainly was larger than her father—by a great margin, in fact. The kitten found that a lot of things about him… didn't make sense, really. She had, of course, grown up around tigers. But she'd come into contact with lions, too, and the being in front of her... somehow, he didn't look like a direct blend of lion and tiger. He looked like something else—maybe something _more_.

Black stripes, orangeish fur that formed a thick, protective coat, gunmetal eyes, a fawn at his feet…

The scent of blood reached her nose, and she gasped, instantly salivating. The kitten looked up at him, pleadingly, but he was already smiling, and nodding, nudging the kill towards her.

_"She's just hungry, poor thing,"_ Freak thought as, after a second of reluctance, the tigress cub pounced on the hearty meal. Digging into the sweet, soft venison, the li-tigon couldn't be entirely sure that she was purring—the wind and rain and thunder were all still deafeningly loud, pouring into the shallow cave from the darkened exterior.

Freak shared the meal, though it wasn't a feast for him, of course. Still, it quieted the pangs of hunger in his gut, and it would prolong life for at least another few days—it would do. Courteously, licking his snout and paws clean, the li-tigon waited for the kitten to finish eating, before focusing the sharp, dark orbs of his eyes on hers.

The kitten shied away from him, again, but didn't press herself against the wall, this time. She licked her snout a few times, shivering, a little. Resisting the instinct to go over and hold her until she was warm, Freak spoke in a gentle, soft, even soothing tone—for him.

"It's alright, little one… I won't hurt you. I promise."

That was a good start. Her eyes flickered to his, at least for a second.

"Calm down, please. I've been carrying you for some time, now—I'm not complaining. …But you can see that I have no malicious intentions towards you, right?" The li-tigon flashed her a slight, natural smile; not the forced, toothy grin he used to sport.

Still, though, the kitten didn't look at him, didn't reply. Freak sighed, slowly, and looked at his own paws. This was going to be hard, he could tell, and the li-tigon had no idea how to probe her for information without scaring her out of her mind. This was no longer the Jungle, and he was no longer a blind, soulless creature—he couldn't grab her, throw her against the wall, and torture the information he desired out of her.

"At least tell me your name, cub. I've earned the right to at least that, haven't I?"

His voice was a little gruff, a little frustrated. And when Freak looked back at the kitten, he was no longer smiling—his expression was stern, firm; but caring, like the look Salim habitually fixed on him.

And, wouldn't you believe it—sometimes, tough love is the right love.

"My name…" she whispered, so that, instantly, Freak looked up, ears erect, "Is… Kochai."

She was still shivering, still refusing to look him in the eye. But she'd answered. The li-tigon wasn't familiar with Hindustan's ancestral tongues, really, but Salim had taught him a few words, here and there, to facilitate his understanding of the dialect modern Hindustani animals used.

_"Kochai… that means nomad, or something like it. But names are meaningless…"_

That didn't ring true. Every name Freak had ever had in his life had had a meaning behind it—a deep one. Maybe this little one really was a nomad, but the li-tigon couldn't afford to be presumptuous or insensitive.

"Kochai… that's a nice name," he said politely, _"It's better than mine, anyway."_ "…So, tell me, Kochai," the li-tigon asked, genuinely curious as he canted his head, leaning in a little, "You're so young… why are you alone? Your parents… where are they?"

Maybe that was the wrong question to ask, for it made tears run down the kitten's cheeks. Maybe it was the right question to ask—she answered.

"I… my father…" she started, before sobbing once, then swallowing, taking a deep breath, and continuing, "My father… doesn't love me. That's why I'm alone… and I don't know where he is, I don't know…" Her voice trailed off into a sad, sorry mewl. She looked away from Freak, before covering her face with her paws and shuddering, crying.

The kitten felt a large, gentle paw nudge her, and flinched, turning away. It was of no use, though, as Freak gradually made her accustomed to his touch, over the course of a moment or so. Slowly, as the storm continued to rage on outside the protective barriers of the outcropping, the li-tigon pulled Kochai's paws from her face.

_"She's so small… so soft…"_

There was no explaining it—Freak had saved the kitten, carried her, cared for her, without any thought of compensation. He'd bonded to the little cub so quickly, it seemed. Not only had he taken responsibility for a life that he'd saved, he'd already started to see himself… not as Kochai's surrogate father, perhaps. But maybe he felt like a big brother to her.

Slowly using a digit to apply pressure to the kitten's chin, turning her face up so that she looked him in those unflinching, unreadable eyes, Freak canted his head, and spoke, quietly, so that she had to strain to hear his voice.

"What kind of father won't love such a beautiful cub, Kochai?... Tell me. What kind of parents wouldn't love such a lovely, precious kitten?"

Tears still ran down her cheeks, but they were neither as pronounced nor as intense as they had been, seconds ago. There was something about this… cat, that comforted her naturally. Maybe it was the fact that he'd carried her around for so long, caring for her unconditionally; or perhaps it was something else.

_"His stripes… they're just like mine, and Father's,"_ the kitten thought, sobbing softly, sporadically, even as she wiped her eyes dry with the back of a paw, _"Maybe we're relatives. Maybe he cares about me because we're family, somehow… I'll ask Father about his relatives, because I can't remember their names. I'll ask Father… if I ever see him again. If he ever wants to speak to me again…"_

For his part, Freak found that he, too, was looking at Kochai with newfound interest. Her stripes… he'd seen them before—on his mother and himself, specifically, and on his grandfather too. But hadn't he seen them one more time, somehow, on someone?

_"Yes, I have… that tigress I found, when I tried to contact the Dark One. Maybe Sher Kahn had a sister… or maybe that was his mother. My great-grandmother. …Whoever it was… I still think I've seen those stripes on one other being, somehow… somewhere…"_

Maybe, subconsciously, Freak knew. Maybe he was in denial, or maybe his meeting with Nasher had made him notice everything _important_ about the tiger—read, not his stripes, for starters. But the li-tigon couldn't dwell on things—Kochai was starting to explain the events that had brought her to him.

"Tigers," she said very slowly, quietly, "aren't meant to live together. My parents… had a disagreement," the kitten looked away at that, sadly, "And… then, they decided that they needed to have some time apart."

Nodding, slowly, Freak's mind was working at lightspeed. The rain and clouds were clearing up, a little; it would be time to get moving again soon. _"She's explaining how tigers operate to me—that means she realizes I'm not of her species. Smart."_

Indeed, since his Hindustani "transformation", post-advent, the li-tigon appeared more tigerish than he ever had before.

"My father," Kochai continued, when she was ready, still looking away, "He… told me that he wouldn't hunt for me. But I was hungry… I was so hungry, big brother. And I was scared… He… yelled at me. So… I ran. I got caught outside in the rain, and I can't swim… this is my first Season of the Rains. I ran… and he chased me… I do not know what he was going to do, what he was thinking… and I don't think I want to, either. But, fortunately, someone in Heaven was watching over me, and protected me. They struck my father with a Lance… he didn't get up, but I don't think he died. I think he's still alive," she whispered, looking outside, into the dark, dangerous terrain that was her homeland, shivering from a gust of wind, "I think he's still alive, and I think that he's going to hunt me down, for being a bad girl… and I think he's going to punish me for that… and for hoping that the Lance killed him…"

The tigress started to cry again, quietly. Freak moved to her, but she stepped away, rebuking his well-intended advance.

"Kochai, Kochai, it's all right," the li-tigon said, attempting a gentle, soothing tone, "Everyone makes mistakes now and then… even good cubs like you… even your father…"

"No, no, no, big brother," the younger feline sobbed, "It wasn't a mistake, I'm not a good cub… I deserve to be beaten up. I deserve…"

What exactly Kochai thought she deserved would remain a mystery, at least at that point in time. The kitten gasped, once, shuddering… then slumped over in a heap. Fearing the worst, Freak was at her side in a flash, checking her pulse, her breathing…

_"She's alive… but she's in a coma, again…."_

The li-tigon sighed, leaning back. Thinking hard, he looked to the side, brow furrowed. Tapping his claws on the hard, cold rock floor of the shallow cavern, he pondered his next move.

The weather was relatively amiable, for the time being,. Thunder and lightning rocked the earth, but from a distance. It was still quite chilly and quite dark outside—the li-tigon realized that, in fact, it was late at night.

_"It's like time has no meaning during the Season of the Rains. The Rains are in charge—not the Sun, not the Banghar Clan, not the humans. So, if I can beat the weather, or use it to my advantage, I'm in good shape."_

Those thoughts were a little uplifting. The li-tigon was still for another moment. He felt a slight prick of worry, for some reason. Concentrating hard… he detected no cause for concern. Still, instincts told him that there was wisdom in leaving now, while he had the chance.

Shrugging, Freak lifted Kochai back up. Casually, he strolled outside, looking around. What to do now; where to go?

_"Well,"_ the li-tigon thought dully, just to keep his mind occupied, _"I'm… beating the weather. That means that I'm beating the Banghars, the human hunters, and—"_

A scent entered the li-tigon's nose. It made him freeze, then turn, sharply, sniffing hard.

Instantly, adrenaline began to creep into his system. Was there any mistaking that smell?... no, there wasn't.

_"I guess I'm not beating him, after all."_

The tiger was close—very, very close. Freak had minutes at _best_ to escape, so he made the most of them and started to _run_.

How Nasher managed to track the li-tigon and his daughter through the worst hours that anyone in Hindustan could remember was a mystery. Maybe it had something to do that he was seeking not just revenge, but the safety of his only cub.

It was of no consequence to Freak, though—he still had no idea that the kitten he had in his teeth was Nasher's daughter… as well as Asal's. As his striped, large form flashed through trees, tearing across the Hindustani terrain, Hell-bent on escaping the tiger, Freak didn't realize a very, very important fact.

He was entering the Triangle of Pain.

* * *

(Out of the frying pan, into the fire, eh? Next chapter will be along soon, but for now, this is the Lion Sheikh of fanfiction… see you next chapter.)


	20. Exile VI: Lessons Learned the Hard Way

The Lion King: The Freak  
Chapter 20: Exile VI: Lessons Learned the Hard Way

* * *

(I admit that though this chapter is on the short side for this story, there's plenty of substance to keep you occupied! Now, on with the story.)

* * *

"I've got you in my sights, bastard. I wonder how long I'll wait before my claws taste your flesh? Ten minutes? Five? Two? Less?"

There was a hill in front of him—a small, rocky structure at the edge of a densely-packed forest. Following the freak's trail, Nasher's snarl was more pronounced than ever.

The tiger was still smart, though—still controlled. His claws weren't extended, and he balanced keeping a low profile to avoid detection with the need to hop up and get a view of things over the lazily waving grasses, taking advantage of the momentary lull in the Rains.

Thunder growled, in the distance, after brief flickers of lightning brightened the tiger's path, and the sticky, hot determination in his chest. Relying primarily on his nose, as his hearing was somewhat hampered by the chilled wind and the light spray of rain it carried with it, Nasher froze.

"I say—this forest…"

_"He's leading me into the Triangle of Pain."_

Was this a trap, somehow---or, more likely, a trick? Had that thrice-cursed hybrid managed to divert his attention, somehow, fooling his formidable senses? Yet, as Nasher dared peek up over the tallest of the grasses, checking the landscape for visual cues with a practiced eye, he detected nothing but virtually irrefutable proof that the one with his daughter, and the blood of his mate, in his paws was within the limits of that terrible killing ground.

For a moment, the tiger considered backtracking stealthily but _quickly_—he really did. Humans had methods of stalking and tracking that were beyond his comprehension—even at the moment, he might have been in the crosshairs of some distant gunman, for all he knew.

And yet…

Yet…

_"Kochai…"_

_"Asal…"_

"If this was just for me, I'd give up. But I'm going to kill him for you."

"So."

_"Prepare yourself, freak. I'm coming for you, even if I have to endure a thousand more Lances to reach you."_

Maybe that bastard was bluffing, playing chicken; or maybe, for unknown reasons, he was just suicidal… or maybe he was delivering Kochai to the humans in exchange for his own fur. There was no way of knowing what a being like that, who would murder the most loving and peaceful female in Hindustan, was capable of. There was no way of knowing what motivated him, what drove him; therefore, there was no use in attempting to apply logic to his decisions..

Nasher was resolved to attack without warning or mercy, carrying justice out efficiently and viciously.

Revenge is, they say, a dish best served cold. But can you really fault a husband and father for wanting to tear the monster that likewise tore his family apart in half?

* * *

The li-tigon was used to moving with great speed through forests that were impassibly thick for most. He'd spent half his life in the Jungle doing just that, after all.

It was odd, though. Freak knew he was running from a tiger, a foe that was trailing him by only minutes. But he could fight another big cat, and quite possibly win. So… why was he getting so scared, suddenly? Why was he shivering, why were his nostrils flaring and why was some nagging instinct twanging at the back of his mind, telling him that something was horribly, vitally wrong…?

Freak jumped, breaking through a treeline and a few blades of tall, limber grass… then froze.

Heart throbbing in his mouth, even as he still held Kochai, looking this way and that, the li-tigon had to ask himself—why were instincts that told him to stop, turn, and run in the opposite direction suddenly becoming _unbearably_ strong?

He couldn't have stood still for more than a few seconds.

Perhaps Freak's estimations were off… or perhaps Nasher was astonishingly fast. After all… just then, the tiger had the motivation to move mountains.

Sensing danger—immediate, imminent—the li-tigon dived, explosively, to the side. Kochai didn't leave his grasp for a heartbeat, even as he tucked, rolled, and turned, skidding to a halt in a powerful defensive stance to face his aggressor.

Snarling, growling, Nasher withdrew his paw from the ground. He'd punched down _hard_, intending to paralyze Freak from the lower torso down, finishing the fight before it could even begin. The tiger had missed, of course… and the blow had thrust aside gallons of dirt, burying his foreleg to the elbow.

For the first time, the cats were allowed to face each other for more than a few brief moments. Freak still hadn't set Kochai down, and he didn't look like he planned to, either—this infuriated Nasher, causing him to start to circle his enemy.

Slinking in a poisonously malicious manner, sinewy, limber muscles rolling over bones so smooth and oiled his motion could have been missed even if you were to stare right at it, the tiger flexed his claws, searching hard for an opening. Needle-like teeth bared, he tensed himself up, like a spring storing thousands and thousands of kilojoules of energy, just begging to be unleashed.

Freak's motions were more hesitant, jerky. He knew better than to underestimate the threat posed by the tiger before him… but he couldn't shake the feeling that somehow, Nasher was the least of the threats around him in this area, whatever it was.

_"This is bad, this is bad… I can't afford to fight with him, I need to get _out_ of here. But what can I do? He thinks I killed Asal…"_

_"And, in a way, I suppose he's right…"_

Damn. Thoughts like that were pointless, at such a moment. Freak had to focus on the here and now if he wanted to live.

Circling, he not only listened to the tiger, but divided his attention, listening for sounds of an approaching assailant, or an escape, a distraction; something, anything.

However, what Nasher said quickly gained a monopoly on the li-tigon's attention.

"Put my daughter down, bastard. Now."

Freak froze, visibly, almost misstepping, creating a split-second opening that might have been fatal if he didn't recover, quickly, batting at the air in a clear display of force: a threat.

Circling again, the li-tigon contemplated, for a moment, before turning and tossing Kochai's sleeping form onto his back.

Nasher almost jumped, at that, racing to catch his daughter. That, too, would have been a mistake that could have finished the fight then and there, but the tiger recovered, and snarled a little louder.

The two males were still feeling each other out, still circling. Both, though, had forgotten their perilous territorial position—no one had _ever_ been this far into the Triangle of Pain, before… and returned alive, anyway.

_"Kochai, has he drugged you? I see that you're breathing—there! You're sleeping, deeply; you almost woke up, I saw it…"_ The tiger's mind was working quickly, but he wasn't lying to himself at all. The kitten had, indeed, stirred just a little, eyes fluttering, just a little… before closing, again.

Kochai was on the brink of awakening, but was still quite unconscious.

_"That's good, for her,"_ Nasher thought grimly, filing away every detail of the cat in front of him in his mind, scouring them over for potential weaknesses, _"No cub should have to see what will happen here—that's odd. His stripes… they're very much like mine ,and Kochai's, and my brother's, and our mother's…."_

It was almost enough of a distraction to make the tiger pause, question, leading them on a totally different course of events—a bloodless course of events, potentially, in which they'd both go off together, escaping before the humans came to gun them down… but not quite.

"I… will… never," Freak whispered, solemnly, almost, before snarling, voice raising, growing threatening and dangerous, "_never_… put her down. Not near you—I swear, I'll never let her go with you. I know about you—shut up," he hissed, cutting off Nasher with the acid-like maliciousness in his voice, "I spoke to her, earlier, and she told me everything; about you denying her food, attempting to hurt her… I understand, now, why she ran away."

"My only question is how," he growled, seething, "how you managed to convince Asal to be your mate; how you managed to get her to mother your cub. You're not a worthy relative of anyone," the li-tigon finished in a simple, almost businesslike tone, eyes locked onto Nasher's.

The tiger seemed a bit… disquieted, at that. Freak's words had made an old, nagging insecurity in him rise—and, let's be fair, his treatment of his daughter really was reprehensible.

And yet, who was the li-tigon to point that out? Freak was the one that killed Asal, Nasher remembered, so, what right did he have to say such things? To make such judgments?

_"None…"_ the tiger thought to himself, circling, considering his next move.

"Alright… put her _aside_, so that you and I can finish this without distraction. I won't touch her until you can no longer move… acceptable?" he snapped, long strands of saliva flying from between his teeth.

The li-tigon's face set into deep, brooding anger. Expression unreadable as he circled without response, for a moment, he eventually paused, and gently set Kochai at the base of a thicket of trees, never taking his eyes off Nasher.

Then, he began to circle again. Without the kitten on his back or in his teeth, Freak had a much wider range of motion, and therefore techniques at his disposal—he was confident about the outcome of the fight, now.

_"I'll beat him. This might be his homeland, but I'm bigger, stronger, faster, and… I don't know for sure that I have more fighting experience than him, but if he's been in more fights than me, I pity him. I really do."_

The li-tigon had been born to violence and conflict, and odds were high that someday, he'd meet his match and die to violence and conflict. Until then, though, what else could Freak do… but work for good ends using the means he was good at? What—wait. Wait.

Freak paused, slowly, halting, standing up straight and canting his head. Fearing a trap or some kind of unexpected assault, Nasher lowered himself farther, prepared to dodge or defend, but the li-tigon merely spoke in a odd, somewhat quiet tone.

"I don't know why… but something about this place doesn't feel right…"

Nasher, slowly stood up to. This area…. what was it again? It had been of great interest to him just moments ago, so why—

"My God…"

_"That's because we're inside the Triangle of Pain…"_

Things were much worse than just that, in fact. Not only were the three cats well inside the rough polygon outlined by the three man villages most responsible for death and destruction, they were _close_ to the northernmost village in the Triangle—the most feared one of them all, and for good reason. Over the past three years, raids from that village had very nearly exterminated tigers from the surrounding areas.

The two cats were tense, staring at each other not with the desire to fight—they were just too frightened to react properly. But Nasher heard something—maybe it was the sound of a boot snapping a twig, or maybe it was the sound of his mind making an excuse for him to _act_—whatever it was, though, it made the tiger rush towards his daughter, intent on grabbing her and taking her away to safety.

But despite his sudden, mind-numbing fear, Freak didn't lose all sense of self and purpose. When he saw that tiger running viciously towards the poor, still comatose kitten, he reacted harshly.

Nasher moved in a path that gave Freak a perfect shot towards his side. Rather than using his claws or teeth, the li-tigon jumped in and executed a perfect headbutt—his skull rammed directly into the tiger's side, where his soft organs weren't protected by ribs. By halting instantly, Freak insured that all of his momentum was transferred to Nasher, who was tossed aside, a contusion spreading under his fur already.

Before the tiger landed, though, eyes bulged and gasping, Freak had taken Kochai. There was no time to run away, he had to hide immediately. There wasn't any real cover, though, so, desperately, the li-tigon jumped up, almost straight up. Kicking off a tree's trunk, he vaulted into a relatively protected position in its branches—even if the humans managed to find him and opened fire, Freak would have a few seconds to get away, and some protection against their bullets… maybe.

Carefully clutching Kochai in his teeth, Freak watched Nasher manage to get up, and limp behind a fallen bough, hunkering down enough so that perhaps surrounding plantlife might prevent the humans from noticing him. Regardless of that, the two cats managed to glare at each other… before _he_ entered the area.

It was the leader, again, the one who had killed both Asal and the Dark One. Cradling a weapon in his hands that seemed almost overlarge, he approached the scene, traveling directly underneath Freak.

It was certainly him—there was no mistaking those angled features, that sharp nose, that short, black fur-like material on his head…

He was protected from the environment from head to toe in what the Dark One had said were clothes—a sort of suit that made the Rains flow away from his body, leaving him free to look from side to side, weapon at the ready—he knew he'd heard something.

Freak's attention was totally on the human—completely. He wasn't looking at Nasher at all, nor anything else around him. That's why he didn't notice that Kochai was, slowly but surely, waking up, twitching, eyes flickering open without shutting, this time.

She was half-conscious, or sleeptalking, or something. Because there was _no_ way that a fully aware Kochai would have missed the tension crackling in the atmosphere all around her—no way that she would have jolted, suddenly, squeaking, "Shere Kahn!" loudly enough to startle Freak into letting go of her.

_"No!"_ The kitten fell through the trees—Freak tried desperately to catch her in a paw, but it was far too late. By the time he had reacted, she was well out of reach; there was no way he could grab her without jumping down and, effectively, committing suicide.

_"Wait…"_ Freak thought, blankly, watching as Kochai fell, _"Shere Kahn..."_

_"How does she know my grandfather's name?"_

It made Freak flinch when Kochai landed. It wasn't just that she fell perhaps five feet from the human—he saw her leg twist in an unnatural angle, and her agonized mewl made the fur on the back of his neck stand on end.

The tension the li-tigon felt until then didn't compare to what he felt afterwards.

Every muscle in his body was taught; his grip on the branches crisscrossing to form a sort of nest beneath him was deathly. Pupils and nostrils flaring, claws extended, he knew he had to do _some_thing—but what could he do? The human was within spitting distance of Kochai, staring at her, ostensibly in curiosity… but his rifle wasn't raised.

The tigress, of course, was surely scared out of her mind—she wasn't moving. She was staring right back at the human, leg twitching slightly… but nothing was happening. He wasn't trying to scoop her up, or kill her, or anything.

_"What's going on? Wait—have I mistaken him?"_ Freak thought, _"Is this Asal's friend? Why else would he not be attacking her?"_

There was no way to be sure, though. The li-tigon had confirmed the human's identity by sight when he'd approached, but now, the human was facing away—there was no way to be sure. Scent suggested that Freak's original hypothesis was still correct… but things weren't adding up. Things weren't adding up at all. He had no idea, now, who this human in front of him was—they all looked alike to Freak anyway, the li-tigon realized, so, really, this could be a friend, an enemy, a third-party neutral… who knew?

Things were confusing enough without Nasher to further obfuscate them—but Kochai was in imminent danger. Her father had to react, somehow.

And at the appearance of this new cat, the human did raise his rifle.

"I don't give a fuck," Nasher snarled, twitching, caught between the desire to run and the desire to get his daughter, "I'm going to save my daughter, even if it means I take bullets for her. So, come," he hissed, practically vibrating in anger, "Shoot me if you want, but you'd better kill me quickly… if you don't, I'll kill you."

Freak was still static—he had no desire to get tangled up in such a situation so ripe for disaster. Escape was still an impossibility, so the li-tigon watched, waiting for a chance to leave, as Kochai slowly, carefully edged away from the human, towards her father—apparently, despite everything, she still felt safer around him than the human.

Nasher's determination, though, faltered. His harsh expression broke, and, twitching, he tried to slip away, wondering what had gone through his mind a moment ago… more humans were arriving.

Now, there were a half dozen or so of them—all armed. Converging in a rough semi-circle around the tiger, they knelt, conversing with each another in curt, short statements.

Freak surmised from his rough comprehension of the tongue humans used that they were wondering why Nasher wasn't reacting, somehow—why he wasn't escaping or attacking. One guessed that the cub in front of them was his, but that didn't make much sense—tiger males, traditionally, never even saw much less met their offspring.

Kochai had definitely hurt her leg on her tough landing—she was mewling softly, tears streaming down her face as she limped, or tried to limp, towards her father, who was still rooted to the spot.

Freak had to give the humans credit, though—they weren't backing away in fear, though he felt certain that if Nasher acted, he could take at least a few of them down with him. They were, however, positioning themselves carefully… the li-tigon heard the leader say to "kill as efficiently as possible, to maximize profits"—at least, that's what Freak gathered.

The li-tigon knew that there was nothing he could do for either Nasher or Kochai. Closing his eyes, gritting his teeth, he bit back a growl of frustration—he hated having his paws tied.

_"Well… at least I'll be able to escape, when they shoot..."_

The humans were about to fire. Their chambers were loaded with live rounds, ready to launch bullets at speeds exceeding that of sound into Nasher. Their objective, though, was to take him in as good of a condition as possible—only their leader would fire, first; but if he didn't kill the tiger with his first shot, or if Nasher turned on them… he'd be chewed up by the onslaught of lead that would ensue.

Silence…

Then, gunfire tore through the landscape.

But…

It wasn't the humans'. At least, not the humans that were hunting Nasher.

One was hit and dropped to the ground, hard, a Picasso-esque explosion of blood erupting from his side. A second later, his comrades followed, facing a direction perpendicular to the one that they'd just assumed, returning fire.

Nasher was forgotten as that firefight exploded out of nowhere. The humans that hunted him were facing a force that was, apparently, superior in either arms or numbers—for every shot they fired, four or five were returned.

Like this, they couldn't last… but what did Nasher, Kochai, and Freak care?

The tiger grabbed his daughter and _ran_, not even trying to dodge gunfire; there was just too much of it to keep track of. Prancing through the humans' formation, he leapt over spent shells, fallen branches, and puddles before vanishing into the jungle.

Further affecting conditions was the fact that the Rains had started again, all at once. Lightning was crackling out over the terrain all around the humans and Freak alike. The hunters had to yell to communicate with one another, and the li-tigon noted with a degree of grim satisfaction that they knew that this wasn't a battle they were going to win.

It was time, though, to slip away unseen, unheard, and unmissed. A burst of gunfire chopped up a leaf next to the li-tigon, but, wisely, he didn't spazz—random incongruities were bound to happen in a firefight of this scale; he had no reason to believe he was purposefully being targeted.

Up in the trees, the li-tigon had a view unmatched by that of the ambushed humans. He still hadn't been detected, and he wasn't likely to be, so he might as well turn and get a look at the attacker, or attackers—who knew, their identity could be of value later. They could even be Asal's friend.

So, Freak turned… then blinked, shook his head, and ran before he was noticed.

_"I thought he was their leader. I thought he was under me. Why, then, is he attacking his friends?"_

Indeed—the lone human that Freak had seen assaulting the ones that had nearly killed Nasher and Kochai, that _had_ killed Asal and the Dark One was the spitting image of their leader.

Was this the inverse of a mutiny? Was he killing off his allies to consolidate proceeds, somehow? Was he being impersonated?

What was going on?

* * *

The li-tigon had ran fast and far. He had no idea where he was—everything in this part of Hindustan was unfamiliar; completely and totally. Things didn't seem natural, somehow… paths were maintained with a level of obsession, even fanaticism that he wouldn't have deemed possible if he wasn't looking at it with his own eyes. There were no inconveniently placed branches, no poisonous plants, snakes, dangerous insect colonies or natural hazards.

Things weren't adding up in this… biosphere. That's actually a very apt term for the part of the world Freak found himself in: he was, in fact, in the geometric center of the Triangle of Pain. The reason things were so… clean, so manicured, polished, and cared for was that the humans and their mongoose servants, particularly the Banghars, took a great deal of trouble to maintain things. Hunting, you see, wasn't the villages' only tourist attraction.

This was, of course, of little consequence to Freak, mostly since he didn't know of any of it.

What the li-tigon did know, however, was that he knew nothing, and it was bloody well frustrating. He knew he needed information, and he knew that there was a lot of it just _inches_ from his grasp… but he had no idea how to obtain it, or what to do to learn how to obtain it.

There were so many steps towards his goal of returning to the Land of the Spirits (itself, an intermediary goal between his end goal of protecting his friends and family by defeating that warrior) that the li-tigon's old, effective strategy of breaking down a staggeringly gigantic plan into doable chunks no longer seemed applicable. There was so much to do, so much to learn to do… and now, with Asal and the Dark One dead, the Banghar Clan and the humans still out with his blood in their eyes… the li-tigon knew he had no allies. The tigress's supposed human friend seemed, sadly, to be complete bull—

"Bah," Freak said out loud. He looked up, and around, but everything looked the same to him—perfectly angled paths in the soaked, waterlogged grass, perfectly proportioned trees and the perfect number of picturesque streams and rivulets… he knew something was wrong, but not _what_.

It was exasperating, and the li-tigon's nerves and tolerance were wearing thin.

And, to add to his frustrations, it was drizzling again, a little—not an innocent sort of sprinkle, a pathetic attempt by the elements to truly lash out, no. It was a precursor, a prelude to what promised to be a long series of storms that were typical of the Season of the Rains. Dark clouds started to roll overhead, plumes of moisture clawing across the sun.

As shadows overtook Freak, he twitched once, annoyed.

"Bah…" he repeated.

There was no use in trying out one of the Dark One's calming techniques—he'd been through so much shit so quickly, even for him, that their certain failure would leave him more tense and upset than ever. Best to just find a simple, innocent release for his anger…

There was a rock in the li-tigon's way. Pausing in front of it, taking a moment to do the lip-service of sniffing and listening, ensuring that its trajectory wouldn't hit anything that was best left unmolested, Freak batted it with his paw, hard. It arced through the air, spinning in an odd, asymmetrical sort of manner, bouncing off a tree, once, before disappearing behind some bushes.

Freak then noticed two things.

One was that the jungle in front of him had been cleared out for hundreds of yards in any direction. Scorch marks and thousands, literally thousands of shiny, hollow cylindrical cases that seemed to result from the report of a gun littered the ground. In the near distance, a series of small, simple buildings spotted the landscape, indicating that it was a semi-permanent training camp, of some sort.

The other was that a circular sort of hoop, with an extended piece of metal had caught itself on a claw the li-tigon had failed to fully sheath, apparently, when he'd gave that rock a satisfying thwack.

Looking at it, in curiosity, sniffing at it, before giving it a lick, Freak's eyes slowly widened. That chemical residue was unmistakable, he'd hit something that was made to—

It wasn't a thunk, nor a dull boom; not for Freak, anyway—the li-tigon was too close. What the explosion sounded like was a loud _crack_, a powerful, concussive blast that shattered leaves for yards in any direction, so that a fine, almost granular salad showered down in a confetti-like manner. Branches and earth and rock were thrown in all directions, becoming impromptu projectiles, as the grenade's explosion rocked the jungle.

Freak, of course, was scared out of his mind. Hearing only a dull, distant ringing in his ears at a tone that he'd have a hard time registering in the future, the li-tigon found himself sprinting in terror, failing to think or look ahead—

Maybe it was random chance, or maybe it was punishment for taking the Dark One's teachings truly to heart. Maybe it was just a well laid trap, or maybe it was karma.

Whatever it was, he found the ground below him giving way, suddenly, opening up to swallow him in a rectangular hole, of some sort. Freak's horizontal velocity was still great, though, so he shot through the air, far, attempting to get a hold on the far wall and claw his way out—

But the ground was too moist, too soggy; it had too much give to it. Hopelessly, despite his best efforts, Freak slid down, straight down, far down, before coming to rest at the bottom of the tiger pit.

Even as he paced, staring skyward, attempting to leap out a few times, Freak had to hand it to the humans: their trap was some kind of brilliant, because there was no escaping it and practically no detecting it.

Freak roared in frustration, calling for help, a few times—but, of course, no one came, and his cries served only to attract the wrong kind of attention: the human kind.

They'd be on him within hours, called not only by his cries but the explosion itself.

Heart still beating hard, pulsating in his chest, Freak forced himself to close his eyes… and slowly but surely calmed.

_"This is my fault. I should have listened to the Dark One more; taken his words to heart. Karma is a bitch…"_

_"…Well… now that I'm stuck here, I might as well make sure that I've learned how to deal with anger and frustration properly. It's funny—as a cub, I knew better than to act in haste like this, because I knew that hasty actions can lead to death. I'm not stupid… so that means I've grown arrogant. I suppose this is fate's way of cutting me down to size…"_

_"By putting me at the mercy of beings more powerful than I am."_

_"I don't think they'll kill me,"_ Freak mused, as he shook himself off, once, releasing his breath, slowly opening his eyes, _"They'll take me alive—they'll capture me."_

_"How I'll escape from them, how I'll get back to the Land of the Spirits…"_

_"I don't know."_

_"I suppose I should have realized how _easy_ things were just moments ago. Because now,"_ he thought, sadly sitting down, descending into a subconscious state of relaxation, meditation, _"Things have become even more difficult."_

_"I'm sorry, Dark One. I suppose I have to learn some lessons the hard way…"_

* * *

Déjà vu in Hindustan struck Freak not often, but on the occasions that it did, it was significant enough to stick.

_"I don't think this is just ancestral knowledge written into my blood,"_ Freak thought, dully, still trying to get used to the fact that when carried like this, the blood that rushed to his head made thinking and seeing difficult, _"I think that this, what's happening to me right now, is a specific memory. Perhaps of my grandfather's…"_

They were triumphant, all of them, when they'd seen that Freak was, indeed, the one they'd fruitlessly pursued for days now. Firing their weapons into the air in jubilation, slapping each other's hands and backs, they soon lifted the li-tigon out, and now carried him on their shoulders.

Hung upside down, suspended on a tree by his paws.

He'd been carried for quite some time, now—of course, neither food nor water had been provided to him; the humans wanted to keep him alive but in subpar health, so as to decrease the long odds of an escape farther still. He had to survive, of course, so that they'd get their much-desired payment. As far as why the humans wanted funding, though, the li-tigon had little more than hunches.

They were dressed in a manner notably different from the vague image of humans Freak had in his mind. They wore larger, flowing articles of clothing; they kept their hair long and wore small hats that only barely seemed to stay on their heads. Freak had also paid close attention to their talk, and managed to decipher it, to a degree.

The four of them that were carrying him were grinning, chattering with one another about how much money this "freak cat" would bring them. That money, they said, would go towards food, clothing, infrastructure, and weapons to expand their forces for their own war.

Large scale conflict, it seemed, really was a global problem that seemed to follow Freak.

All in all, there were perhaps two dozen men. Freak realized that his encounters with these hunters hadn't involved the same groups—he'd seen the leader on all occasions, of course, but their forces seemed to have split up in order to balance safety and the need to find and capture or kill Freak.

Now, they'd converged to safely see their valuable, precious asset into the hands of its next owner… whoever, or whatever it was. The li-tigon's fate was a mystery that he had no desire to speculate on.

They were moving in three distinct lines, and had both a rear and a forward guard. The men that carried Freak were buffered from the thick, dangerous jungle by comrades—armed, of course.

The leader, who Freak recognized by scent, was at the front. The device he held in his hand was small, but he seemed to be using it to navigate, somehow—perhaps it read the Sun, the stars, and the Moon as Freak did, but took all that information and somehow converted it for easier digestion.

Whatever it was, though, the task of setting his course was one accomplished in seconds. The hunters praised him, as he passed, stalking towards Freak, ignoring them and hefting his weapon, for his decision to hunt before and _into_ the "Monsoon", so as to avoid attention from foreign, rich hunters.

He stopped, just next to Freak, and then began to walk, inches from the li-tigon's side. Freak felt the cold, hard barrel of his gun against his side, and flinched, hissing, a little, as the hunter examined his prey.

Snarling up at those deadly, angular features, darkened skin and darker eyes, further set apart from his allies by his short-cut hair, he inspired fear even in the defiant li-tigon.

Smirking, the hunter drew a long, wicked-looking knife, and toyed with it in his hands. Consequently, Freak fell silent, swallowed, and hung limp, again, muscles slackening under his fur. They'd made a lot of progress, over the past… hours? Days, maybe?... and this new part of Hindustan was again different from anything Freak was used to. Large, rocky hills arose out of nowhere, separated from one another by plains, sometimes, but usually forests not quite as thick as those the li-tigon was used to. The terrain seemed to tend towards aridity (except now, of course, during the Season of the Rains); as was suggested by the limber, sharpish look of the trees, the grasses, and the bushes of this new land.

Freak sighed, once, but didn't react. The human was good with his knife; he was able to make rapid, deadly slices increasingly closer to the li-tigon's nose, ears, eyes, and fur without actually allowing his blade to taste flesh. Freak, though, refused to be instigated, so, soon, the hunter gave up his cruel game.

The li-tigon looked up at his captor, again, though, and wondered. Brow furrowing, eyes narrowing, a little, he carefully analyzed that distinct face again—it squared with what he'd seen, earlier, but… that just didn't make sense.

_"You attacked your friends, earlier… right? Was that you that approached Kochai, or was it you who effectively saved her? Are you… an imposter? Where you impersonated? Are there actually two different groups of hunters… was there an overthrow, of some sort, and was one group enveloped by the membership and leadership of the other?"_

_"Or am I just trying to understand something beyond understanding?... after all…t he affairs of humans seldom have rhyme or reason to them. That's what instinct tells me."_

_"Maybe I should just stop thinking about these things that don't concern me,"_ Freak said, this time, flinching as the human's blade suddenly and cleanly sliced off one of his whiskers, _"And relax."_

_"After all, for once, I know my fate."_

_"Death, or worse—hopefully death… it's certain."_

With that thought in mind, Freak was able to ignore, for the next hours, over which the group stopped, several times to eat, rest, take water and their bearings, the numerous blows, gobs of spit and dirt that were flung at him. He even smiled at them, a few times… ah, in a way, he felt bad for them, really. Their lives really must have been terrible, if they were put positions that allowed them to think that such treatment of a helpless prisoner was acceptable.

His fate was certain, but his geographical destination wasn't. As far as Freak was concerned, he'd again been taken from everything familiar to him, everything he might have had a chance of caring about… and thrust into a new, different world; another set of opportunities for fate to taunt him with hope, but disappoint him with loss.

The li-tigon was either asleep, in deep meditation, or both, when gunfire shrieked through the air.

The left side of the treeline, buffered from Freak by a line of humans was chopped up by the distant roar of what sounded like the leader's weapon, being fired several times each second. The hunters reacted well, and quickly dropped to their knees or bellies, drew their weapons, and returned fire to cover their retreat.

Yelling at each other, shouting, though, as one of the four carrying Freak went down from a shot that created a cavity the size of a watermelon in his chest, they knew they were on the losing side of this gunbattle.

The attackers, whoever they were, were now opening up with smaller weapons. More bullets—smaller bullets—forced the hunters to hit the dirt, again, incapable of even snapping off shots of their own.

Freak had been dropped, of course, as his bearers fell back into the treeline on the opposite side of the path. They weren't running, though, just taking cover.

Even as the li-tigon struggled to get free, heart beating so fast that he was almost in danger of cardiac arrest, Freak heard their leader speak, as his troops reloaded their weapons.

"Put up a smoke screen to our one-thirty, and get a machinegun set up. Jamal, Mahmoud—cover our left flank, and prepare to advance on my command. The rest of you—lay down covering fire, I'll snipe. From here on out, use nonverbal signals or radio only… I have a feeling that these are not soldiers or police attacking us… but—"

Freak had been in the clearing, a slight depression, in front of the hunters. The attackers, whoever or wherever they were, had only been firing occasional shots in the general direction of their targets, but now, the li-tigon knew why.

Something fell from the sky—he wasn't sure what, exactly—but upon contacting the ground, it exploded slowly, taking enough time for Freak to yell and cower, or try to, as it shoved him across the ground, into a tree.

The li-tigon saw stars, and tasted blood in his mouth—his blood. Blinking rapidly, he groaned, and squirmed hard, struggling to get his paws out of the knots they'd been tied into… but it was useless… useless.

The leader was yelling, now, and his comrades quickly acted. Freak had been thrown backwards, on the trail, so that the two men that had been assigned to cover the left flank ran right past him, hunkering down among some bushes—they were presumably hidden from the attackers; invisible assailants ready to strike on command.

The rest of the hunters threw rock-like devices similar to the one that had gotten Freak into this mess up the trail. Rather than exploding, though, they sent thick, broad columns of white smoke into the air—plenty of cover, and a great deterrent to attack.

The battle had resumed, now. The hunters were returning fire with a weapon that required two men to use; one to fire and one to feed it. Freak was still struggling weakly to rid himself of the log tied to his paws, but it was a losing battle… and blood was slowly spreading from a wound on his shoulder—he'd been hit by a bullet, or a piece of shrapnel.

A few more explosions went off, close enough to Freak to throw dirt on him and make his ears ring, but far enough to not toss him into the sky again or injure him. Whoever was launching those airborne bombs had improved his aim—the li-tigon saw two or three men scream, their flaming bodies smashed into trees to break off into several charred parts. The machinegun fell silent, for a moment, before someone else manned it, returning fire again with a vengeance.

The attackers, however, had spread out. In the distance, through vegetation and smoke and dust and debris, Freak could see the flowery blasts issued by numerous automatic weapons. Behind him, the hunters' leader had opened fire with his rifle, and the attack started to falter, a little. More explosions went off, though, targeted behind the majority of the hunters, still firing dutifully with their weapons, presumably intended to distract or suppress the sniper—the move was successful, and, quickly, the hunters were locked into a near stalemate that they were slowly losing.

Stubbornly, though, they didn't give up. Freak could see the snarls on their faces, the harsh determination in their sharp, practiced maneuvers. Their goal, it seemed, was no longer to safely ferry him to… wherever. They'd lost some of their own, and now, with the li-tigon laying forgotten on the ground, it seemed that they intended to make their attackers pay tenfold, money be damned.

But whoever had attacked the hunters was advancing, slowly. They were now only yards from the treeline, and now, the hunters had been forced to pull back. Still, the two crouching mere yards from Freak waited, tensely, for the order to jump out of cover and take their enemies by surprise in a sudden, flanking action that would stop the advance in its tracks, giving the rest of the group time to regroup and mount an effective counterattack.

The order was sent a second later. Jamal and Mahmoud stood, firing rapidly, rushing towards their enemies' flank—

Something happened then, though, that no one could have foreseen. The duo went down a second later, as a roar was heard and a large, striped figure leaped from the trees, breaking one's neck with a powerful strike, tackling the other to the ground before finishing him with a mercifully quick bite.

Keeping his head down, despite the fact that the hunters were too busy covering their suddenly hasty retreat to target him, the newcomer approached Freak, teeth still dripping blood, across the scorched earth and foliage.

"Wh… what are you doing…" the li-tigon groaned, really starting to feel his injury now, only capable of weak, pathetic maneuvers that would be useless in defense against the healthy cat, "You have a daughter to protect… why attack me, brother… I'm finished…"

Nasher's eyes were narrow, face harsh as he stood over Freak, extending his claws. The li-tigon merely sighed, and closed his eyes… at least this would be quick…

But when the tiger's paw moved, he didn't slice Freak's throat or gut… but the rope that bound him to the log.

The li-tigon blinked, flexing his freed paws, and watched, bewildered, despite the gunshots and explosions all around him, as Nasher sliced the rest of the rope apart. The tiger made the final few incisions, and moved back towards Freak's face, but the li-tigon wasn't about to wait to see what Nasher's intentions were—he bolted.

He didn't get far, though, because an unexpected smattering of gunfire drilled a dozen or so identical holes in a tree right next to him. Distracted, the li-tigon faltered—and that gave Nasher time to act.

Freak let out a loud "oomph" as the tiger jumped on him. The li-tigon was too surprised to react, so, despite his greater mass, Nasher was able to win their brief but furious wrestling match, pinning Freak on the ground, belly down. As bullets streaked just over their heads, trailed by the sounds of them hissing through the air, Nasher spoke.

"I'm not attacking you," he snarled—that made Freak blink, and stop struggling. The two cats shielded their faces from a too-close explosion, and Nasher resumed his explanation, albeit in a much hastier tone.

"My daughter thinks you're our relative. I'm Shere Kahn's brother," he said, voice as determined as his expression, his flat ears, and the tension in his muscles, "Are you—"

"His grandson," Freak said, knowing that the awe of meeting a living relative of his maternal grandfather would set in later, "It's a long story. I'll explain later," he finished, curtly, cutting off the way Nasher's eyes widened, his jaw started to drop, and his head tilted—they had to leave _now_ if they wanted to live.

The tiger nodded—once, quickly, simply—and jerked his head for Freak to follow.

The firefight was still _on_, and the cats had to crawl, essentially, to avoid being shot. Nasher seemed to know what he was doing, though, so Freak felt reasonably safe, even as bullets flew all around them.

The jungle was suffering just as much as the combatants presumably were. Already, several trees had been reduced to glowing, smoking splinters, and countless smaller plants had been annihilated, shredded into little bitty pieces by explosions and gunfire. Still, the hunters continued to defy their attackers, who, likewise, continued to press their targets.

Escape, thus, was a welcome choice for the cats.

They left the worst of the fighting behind before finally getting up and sprinting. Despite the fact that they were still very much in harm's way, Freak felt a great sense of relief when Kochai joined them, before being picked up by her father.

A scorching wave of heat rolled out, singeing the fur on their backs. Freak turned to watch a giant, flaming fist punch up into the sky, mushrooming into a evil-looking, dark cloud. Seconds later, burning shrapnel landed all around the trio, encouraging them to run faster yet.

But, to Freak, something didn't seem right. He'd been deprived of food, and rest recently, and had spent the past days in a quasi-constant state of pent-up stress. Blinking rapidly, the li-tigon stopped himself from having an out-of-body experience… sort of.

Because still, as they ran, Freak couldn't stop his mind drifting away from the here and now. Eyes darting side to side, rapidly, he wondered what instinct was nagging him _this_ time, warning him of some thus far unseen, unknown, yet approaching danger.

_"Wait…"_ That was it. That was the danger—"Wait," Freak said, audibly, looking up in fear that wasn't quite rational, semi-bloodshot eyes paranoid, "We need to stop… think."

"Are you insane, boy?" Nasher replied, after tossing his daughter to his back, running as fast as ever, even as the li-tigon slowed, "Not until we're miles from this place. What's wrong, anyway?"

"Just… when you run from one danger so single-mindedly, so recklessly…"

The trio burst out of a treeline, suddenly… then froze.

"….You stand a good chance of running into another."

Nasher hadn't stopped that crazy sprint only due to Freak's words, of course, though they resonated with some deep instinct in him. His uneasiness had grown, and, given time, yes, the tiger might have proceeded more cautiously. What rooted him to the spot, though, was the sudden appearance of a human, not ten yards from them.

And not just any human, either. Freak recognized him—this was the human that had shot Asal, and the Dark One, and had tried to do the same to him…

"Wait… wait… no, this doesn't make sense…"

"Stop blathering, boy. You'll just make him decide to shoot you, first."

Freak blinked, and looked to Nasher. He'd set Kochai down, who had crouched down, watching the scene with wide eyes. Her father was circling, slowly, looking directly, intently at the human, who was heavily armed. The li-tigon started to circle, too, but his head was cocked—he wasn't preparing to attack, he was just trying to see the human from all angles…

"Wait, Nasher… don't attack him," Freak said, "I think—"

"So, you are insane," the tiger hissed, intently, "Come. We'll attack together, when we're on opposite sides of him. That way, he'll only kill one of us, at most—"

"NO! WAIT!" the li-tigon suddenly roared.

Even as the human drew beads on both grown cats, using two weapons in conjunction with one another, gaze shifting back and forth between them, the jungle fell silent. Nasher was still in that low, fluid fighting stance of his, but Freak was fighting every instinct to not drop into a more powerful stance—maybe, just maybe, he could make sense of this.

"What are you talking about? He's their leader! He's the one that SHOT MY WIFE!"

Even as Nasher's words dropped off into hyperventilation, Freak shook his head.

"No, that's not it, I think," the li-tigon said, still wary of the human… who had still failed to open fire and kill them both.

"The one that killed Asal and the Dark One… he's back there, with the rest of the hunters. This one attacked them, but see, he's alone. He's not a leader of any hunting party, so, I think… I think this one is Asal's friend."

Nasher's eyes widened, as did Kochai's—neither suspected that the beloved tigress had been sneaking off not to keep herself fit, or clean her fur or whatever it was, but to interact with a _human_. The tiger's lips peeled back into a snarl as he spoke.

"You're lying. Look at his face—it's the spitting image of her killer. He smells the same, also… look, I'm not sure if my wife was hypnotized, or just fooled… but this man killed her. And if we don't act _now_, he'll kill all of us—no. He'll kill you and I, and take Kochai captive. We have to finish him while we have this small chance."

Freak shook his head, though. He was still staring at the human's face, and, for the longest time, the human had been staring back. True, this one was, as Nasher had said, the spitting image of Asal's killer, yet, there were some distinctions between him and the one with the big rifle, whose party had just been attacked.

_"What was it that she said… his face, is… handsome, and pure…."_

The li-tigon's eyes narrowed—now, he started to growl a little, albeit in frustration.

"I don't know if he's handsome," Freak said out loud, "But when I look at you, I see only purity. So… wait, Nasher… just for a moment…"

The tiger had been coiling up, preparing to jump and knock the human's head from his shoulders, taking advantage of the distraction that Freak's mad words were providing. But, reluctantly, he held back… just for a moment.

_"How does he know that signal? When mother taught it to us, she said it was a very, very well-kept secret…"_

From behind the scant cover the plants and grasses all around her offered, Kochai lifted her head, a little, watching, as Freak began to perform _that_ maneuver—the one the Dark One had taught him in his final moments.. Nasher's eyes narrowed, his expression growing intently curious, no longer bloodthirsty.

The li-tigon finished the signal… but the human didn't react. Instead, he turned, glaring at Nasher, then Kochai.

Still, no one attacked. Freak repeated the maneuver… then, so did Nasher, and then, so did Kochai.

And then, slowly, the human lowered his weapons… then dropped them.

As the cats looked on, he continued to disarm, pulling off grenades, several blades, and another firearm. Finally, he stood up, tall and strong, hands bare. Looking from Freak, to Nasher, to Kochai, back to Freak, he returned the signal, performing it flawlessly.

Occasional gunfire still punctuated the silence, off in the distance, as the human quickly began to put his weapons back on. Holding a small, square device, he manipulated it in a manner that didn't make sense to Freak. A moment later, more explosions went off.

Looking up at the cats, the man smile, and then, impossibly, spoke in a tongue that was comprehensible to them.

"Please come with me, dear friends," he said, "I have food and shelter for you."

As their surprise wore off, the cats' faces wore smiles, despite everything. Humans had powers over the environment that they didn't understand, so, during the Season of the Rains, what he offered them were luxuries. Suddenly, they turned, as numerous… devices, rolled out of the forest. They were about as tall as Nasher, and had wheels on the bottom. They were mounted with guns of all manners… Freak guessed, correctly, that this human was somehow controlling them, remotely, becoming a practical army of one.

A larger device, painted with camouflage and large enough for the human to pile all of his mechanical helpers into was nearby. Freak and Nasher wanted to help, but didn't dare touch the small machines—they feared breaking them, or causing them to spray gunfire in every direction.

Still, the man worked quickly, and soon, his pickup was loaded. He ignited the surprisingly quiet engine of the vehicle, and motioned for Kochai to join him in the cabin. After giving her father a questioning, pleading look, to which Nasher reluctantly nodded, the tigress nuzzled his shin, hopped through the window, and smiled up at the human.

Then, as Freak flanked the driver's side of the truck, Nasher on the opposite side, giving the vehicle wary, untrusting glances, the li-tigon looked at the human again.

True, he didn't seem _exactly_ the same as the one that killed Asal and the Dark One, but the small deviances between his features and the killers could easily have been faked; they were totally cosmetic. And who knew how adept humans were at guising themselves to cats?

Mistrust threatened to rise in Freak, but the li-tigon bit it down. Then, knowing the human wouldn't understand him, he spoke to the ground, as they moved on, ostensibly towards some safe haven—hopefully.

Thunder rumbled in the near distance, and wind kicked up—soon, the Season of the Rains would strike again, in greater force, or frequency, or both, than the storm that had preceded this one.

"I don't understand," the li-tigon said, glancing up at the human, "Are you a double agent of some sort? Did you switch sides; are you an imposter? I don't understand…"

Freak looked up suddenly, shocked, as the human replied, his quiet voice hardly audible over the sudden rain and wind and thunder that came in a wave across Hindustan.

"My twin brother and I," he said, "Are two very different people."

* * *

"It's just a little place, so don't expect much luxury," Raj said.

Since their meeting, a few hours had passed. The human and the cats had introduced themselves to one another on the move, but hadn't said much more. Though the cats felt safer around such a powerful ally, they held no delusions that they were untouchable: still intent on escaping their hunters for good, they focused on moving.

Now, the human parked his truck, dismounted, and now, carried one of his "little friends" in his arms. Kochai tried to hop out of the window, caught her foot on the glass pane, fell, but rolled to her feet, smiling brightly at her father, who just rolled his eyes.

They were at the base of a mesa, a large, impassibly steep and treacherous structure made mostly of rocks and earth. Ostensibly, there was plant life at the top, but Freak couldn't see from where he was. Yet, the human was approaching the small mountain as if he intended to climb it.

"Wait…" the li-tigon said, looking skeptically at his newest ally, "You don't expect us to climb to the top of this, do you? Perhaps you can, but I know that I, at least, can't. And if we can get to the top just by climbing…." Freak said, before taking in a slow breath, "Then others can, as well."

Raj smiled, just a little, a slight, lopsided smile that was reminiscent of Freak's rare expressions of happiness. He turned back to the mesa, and said, "Don't worry… just follow me."

Nasher looked at Freak, as Kochai playfully loped after the human, batting at his feet as if they were her newest toy. The tiger mouthed, "He's bloody insane!" to Freak. The li-tigon shrugged, and watched, hoping he'd be impressed, somehow.

And, as it turned out, he was.

The human felt around at the mountainside, apparently searching for something. A moment later, he leaned back, pulling…

A large door appeared, camouflaged into the rock so perfectly that even as he watched it open, Freak had to blink several times to make sure that the Earth itself wasn't opening up to swallow whoever got too close. The entrance was large enough to admit even the large cat with ease, and, inside, an earthen set of stairs was visible.

Raj took two, turned, smiling, and beckoned at the wary trio. "Come on," he said in a friendly tone, as a loud growl of thunder rolled across the land, "It's safe, I promise…"

Nasher and Freak shared a glance—things were getting a little too suspicious. Of course, the human seemed trustworthy enough, and he hadn't raised a finger at them since they'd met; but still… this was a little too much. Entering such an enclosed space, in an area that was foreign to begin with… it would take some motivation.

Safety, for instance. Or food. Or shelter from the large, blood-warm drops of rain that began to spill down from the Heavens.

The li-tigon was the first to enter, somewhat entranced by Raj's calm, gentle coaxing. Padding slowly, he entered the cavity, glanced side to side, nodded to himself, then jerked his head for Nasher and Kochai to follow.

"That's good. Now, watch yourselves…" the human said. What he did next was a mystery to Freak, but whatever it was, it caused the door to slowly yet firmly shut, bathing the cats in darkness.

Almost.

For despite how deep the stairwell was in the mesa, a dull glow managed to penetrate from locations unknown—ostensibly, the surface, wherever it was.

"This way," the human said quietly; he didn't have to be loud, as his whisper echoed around in a somewhat spooky way, making Kochai take refuge behind her father's foreleg.

Raj began to walk, treading up the somewhat dusty, somewhat dirty stairs, one at a time—he couldn't go fast, due to the bizarre contraption in his arms, but that was fine. Freak felt that due to the level of anxiousness he felt, if he was made to hurry he'd grow excited and sprint, embarrassing himself. Instinct was instinct, but the li-tigon did feel some sense of dignity… on occasion.

Sharing a glance with the male feline, the li-tigon started to move. Hearing more than seeing Nasher pick his daughter up by her neck's scruff, for the next moments he tried not to focus on the way the walls seemed to press in on him, the light failing to grow brighter, as if this terrible tunnel would never reach and end…

Well, of course, in the end, it did. Blinking once, then twice, Freak got out of Nasher's way, flanking the human's side with a twitching tail. His gunmetal eyes were wide, but unlike the tiger, he didn't audibly gasp and drop Kochai. The kitten was similarly dumbstruck, and cleanly hopped up to her father's back to get a better view of the garden that splayed out across the mesa's top.

"There's a legend," Raj said, silently, audibly, but so silently that his soft voice didn't break the spell cast by the view, "Among humans. It's about our origin. They say that when the first man and the first woman were created, they were put in a very, very special place… a paradise, of sorts. Now, I don't know if this is where they were," the human admitted, before shrugging, grinning, once, and setting his machine down, "But the birthplace of humanity can't be much different from this, if the legends are right."

The mesa was bigger than Freak had anticipated. It stretched out for what had to be miles, containing every Hindustani terrain Freak was aware of. The li-tigon could see this because they'd emerged on a small plane that was slightly rised, giving them not quite a bird's eye view of the relatively flat surface. Forests, deserts, jungles, grassy meadows, lakes, rocklands… none were particularly large, of course, but who was complaining? This place was a greater training field than the li-tigon could have asked for.

"You said you had food here for us, young human," Nasher said after what seemed like a long time, tearing Freak's eyes away from the candy they pored over, in as gruff a voice as possible, "I hope that you'll deliver on this promise; I believe strongly in honesty."

Kochai glared at her father, then shot Raj an apologetic look, before sighing, and heading off to explore a nearby tree, and, of course, give her claws a taste of its trunk. Smiling after the young tigress, the human nodded, and manipulated that small device with a hand, presumably causing the little helper he'd brought with him to stand sentry near Kochai, an armed escort of sorts.

"I value honesty as well, Uncle. Don't worry," the human said, "See, there, in the distance… at the far side of that lake…"

Getting a little closer to the human, still wary, Freak peered out over the thick, wet forest that formed the habitat nearest the foursome. Stripes glistening due to condensation slowly forming on his fur, he blinked.

"You have good eyesight. Nasher—"

"Yes, yes…" the tiger said, somewhat grumpily, somewhat dismissively, giving a larger berth to the human than Freak did, "A family of deer. Good fare… though, in the Season of the Rains…"

Nasher opened his mouth, then closed it. Then, he repeated that routine, as if trying to, but not quite able to say something, causing Raj to laugh, once, and head off into the forest, walking backwards.

"Don't worry, Uncle, the look on your face is thanks enough. I'm sure that, in time, you'll grow used to the presence of a human." He turned around, then, and added so softly that Freak only barely heard him, "Though Lord knows that I haven't."

The li-tigon watched, then, as Raj disappeared into the trees surprisingly well—sure, Freak could still sense him, but already, at twenty five yards apart, his senses were strained. Humans, apparently, or at least this human, had an affinity for stealth that would be tough to beat. His ear flicked to the side, though, followed by his head—and then, the li-tigon had to stifle a grin at the new expression on Nasher's face.

Already humiliated from having to accept help from a human, the tiger was dismayed, now, as he spoke.

"In time?... Just how long do you expect for me to stay here—oi! Come here, you unruly youngster, look at me when I'm speaking to you! Hey—where's Kochai?" Indeed, Freak observed, for once not feeling the spike of adrenaline or worry generally associated with the realization that the tigress had slipped off.

"Is there no respect for elders these days? What is the world coming t—not that I'm old," Nasher said thoughtfully, casually stroking the graying fur at the bottom of his chin with an extended digit, "No, no, not at all…"

The tiger turned to Freak, and, for a change, the li-tigon felt genuinely grateful that the emotion he felt inside wasn't visible from the outside. Face blank, near-black eyes expressionless, he merely canted his head, a little, until Nasher just sighed, and turned back to the jungle, head hung as he padded off.

"Brilliant, I say, brilliant." the tiger groaned, "Stuck on the top of an overgrown hill with an unruly daughter, a _friendly_ human, and a peculiar, silent relative."

"…I'm too bloody old for this!"

* * *

For all of us, things exist that we must adapt to. Freak, for instance, had to adapt to life with other cats. Usiku had to adapt to a life generally free of mass-killings, assassinations, and government overthrows. The Lion Sheikh had to adapt to life in a country without—that's another story.

Nasher, though, had to adapt to life, as he'd said, on top of an overgrown hill with an unruly daughter, a friendly human, and a peculiar, silent relative.

He was doing it kicking and screaming.

But, well, eventually—and when I say eventually, _I mean eventually_… he did it, sorta. Sure, the tiger wasn't necessarily talking about politics and religion with Raj, or approaching him, as his daughter did, to be petted or rubbed, but, at least, Nasher was tolerating his presence—reluctantly (sort of like how your grandparents might tolerate the Internet or cell phones… if they do at all).

Still, though, Freak had to admit that life atop the Sacred Mesa, as Raj referred to it, was quite good. He was eating, resting, and training, all in the same day—living the life, y'know? Over the week since they'd arrived at the peak, Raj had left, several times, once for two full days at a stretch. Sometimes he'd return with an explanation, sometimes without, but always with a useful tidbit of information or intelligence.

Once, Freak had questioned him, after a long absence, what the Banghar Clan was up to. Raj's only response was that they'd be dealt with, an answer that sent a cold expression of satisfaction across Freak's face.

* * *

We rejoin our heroes at dusk, seated around a tall campfire built by their combined efforts. Kochai was on her back, giggling madly, batting at her father's playful mock-attack's. Seated on the opposite side of the fire was Freak, merely watching the scene with somewhat of a sense of wonder, awe, even desire—what was it like, he wondered, he pondered with every fiber of his being, to father a cub? What was it like to play in such a manner with a being that would carry on your blood, your ideas, your hopes and your aspirations…?

Raj was sitting on a log, perpendicular to the rough line created by the positions of the three cats. Staring into the flames, which crackled, now and then, sending a smoky, odorous haze into the air that seemed to keep insects away, he slowly popped small granular snacks from a bag in his hand into his mouth, clearly contemplating something.

Freak, of course, had told the human everything about everything. It had been somewhat tiring for the li-tigon to explain his entire life's story, essentially, to Nasher and Raj. It had been somewhat painful, as well, and, unsurprisingly, quite graphic—Kochai had been told to give the trio some "grown ups' time", but not to stray too far. The story had taken the better part of a morning to retell, and, of course, when Freak was done, he'd had to spend the rest of the day tracking down Kochai.

_"Not that that wasn't enjoyable,"_ the li-tigon reminisced, smiling, a little, at how he'd pinpointed the tigress, but blundered in, asking, dramatically, rhetorically, where she was, before collapsing to the ground when she "suddenly" pounced on him.

Life for Freak, though, was a dynamic force. Never constant for long in any manner, the tranquility and relaxation he'd found at the mesa's top… was at an end.

Sort of.

"Scarred One," Raj said suddenly, looking up, directly into the li-tigon's eyes, meeting them with a look as cold and roughened as Freak's most common expression—the human's suffering wasn't as great as Freak's, in some ways… but he was a fighter, to be sure.

"It is time," the human said, before sucking in a long, slow breath… but failing to continue.

"Time, for…?" the li-tigon prompted, as Nasher and Kochai both looked up, intrigued, the latter flipping to her feet in a corkscrew that reminded Freak of his grandmother's unique fighting style.

Raj remained silent, for a moment. Then, slowly, he pulled a rifle onto his lap—it was loaded, but there was no round chambered. However, when he pulled the charging handle back, slowly, darkened hand dancing in the unpredictable light of the fire, before letting it slide forward with a loud _clack_, that changed.

Freak bristled, but didn't react. After all this time, he'd grown to trust Raj—he really had.

"It's time," the human finally continued, "To train you to fight an enemy that uses guns, bombs, and attacks of a nature beyond my understanding. I can't teach you everything," he shrugged, slowly getting to his feet, rifle lazily cradled in his arms, expression unreadable, "But I can give you some valuable lessons in the art of fighting men. The first lesson will be…" he paused, then smiled a dangerous, challenging smile.

"You'll find out. But make no mistake," Raj murmured, so softly that despite their proximity, and the fact that Freak's ears were perked up, angled directly at him, "There's exactly one way to learn this lesson…"

"…The hard way."

Silence. Silence. Silence…

Then, without another word, or any other sort of warning, precedent, or explanation, Raj's face twisted into an expression of absolute rage… and, not even bothering to shoulder his G3, brought it to his hip, and unleashed the entire contents of his magazine at Freak.

* * *

(Next chapter comin' at you soon… till then, this is the Lion Sheikh of fanfiction, see ya later!)


	21. Exile VII: Destiny

The Lion King: The Freak

Chapter 21: Exile VII: Destiny

* * *

(Sorry for the long wait, but my word to time ratio is good, I think. Anyway, enjoy, and on with the story!)

* * *

"Come on, Father, tell me a story, please?"

"Well…" Nasher paused, unable resist his daughter's puppy eyes and quivering, pouting lip, "Alright, I will."

"Yippee!" Kochai cheered, rubbing her father's foreleg until she fell over, looking up at him in anticipation.

"I have one, I don't think you've heard it before," the tiger finally said. Clearing his throat, he too slumped over, resting a giant paw across his daughter's body, protectively. Paternally.

"It's about a tigress," Nasher began, "She was very powerful, very fast. The greatest fighter Hindustan has ever known—but, daughter, here's the surprise. She _abhorred_ fighting, and violence, of all kinds. You see?

"In fact," he continued, "She even tried, for many years, to find a way that we cats can survive without killing and eating meat. Eventually, she gave up, and accepted it as a necessary evil. She spent most of her life protecting the creatures of this jungle—making sure that there was enough water to go around, keeping track of human sightings, and so forth.

"One day, she had two cubs, both male," Nasher smiled, sadly, "She loved them more than anything else in all the world, and, if things had been allowed to continue normally, they would, no doubt, never have strayed far from each others' sides, perhaps creating combined families of their own, someday.

"Alas, this wasn't to be. When her cubs were only a few months old, she was killed, just like that, right in front of them—by a hunter, Kochai," Nasher said softly, "A hunter. To live, the cubs split up, running in different directions… but they never met each other again. It was only many, many years later when one of them found out that his brother… had been captured, after killing many men, and was never, ever seen or heard of again.

"This isn't a sad story, though," he continued, "You see, she may have died… but her other cub lived. In fact, he still lives. And even though he doesn't protect his homeland as much as his mother did, he feels sure that his daughter will, someday, take after her grandmother.

"Ah, heheh… you should meet his daughter, Kochai. She's very sweet—I'm sure you'd like her very much," the tiger smiled, rubbing his daughter under the chin.

"You mean, the tigress's son, and his daughter are still alive?" Kochai asked, latching on to her father's foreleg, wrestling with it playfully, "Maybe, can we meet with them someday?"

Nasher played with his daughter in silence, for a moment, lifting her off the ground easily, tapping at her insistently. Then, smiling, he nodded.

"Sure, we will. In fact, Kochai, you already have met them. In fact… you _are_ meeting them, right now, this very moment?"

The tigress kitten gasped, got up, and quickly began to lick her paw, using it to straighten her fur into presentability.

"Ah—really? Where are they, Father? This is an honor, to meet such a great family—why are you smiling like that, Father?"

Nasher stood, shook himself off, and approached his daughter, gently ruffling her headfur. Avoiding her curious green eyes for a moment, he wiped his own with the back of a paw, bizarrely, inexplicably. Then, looking at Kochai again with a slightly quivering smile, brown eyes moist, he spoke in a tone the kitten had hardly heard before.

"They are you and I, Kochai. The one that was the jungle's protector… was my mother. The one that killed so many humans, he was my brother. And you, Kochai," he said, "Will take after your grandmother, I am sure. Don't tell your mother, ever… but I believe that it's your destiny."

* * *

"Lesson number one…"

Raj's cool, gentle voice was almost taunting, given Freak's condition—it was matter-of-fact, and maddeningly calm, while he was lying on the ground, bleeding to death. The li-tigon had been knocked over by the force of the sudden, long burst, and now, dazed, was on his back, twitching as—

_"Wait, just one second…"_

"There are no rules," Raj said, swapping the spent magazine of his G3KA4 for a fresh one, slapping the Velcro pouch of his vest shut with a casual flick, "There are no warnings, no second chances; there's no predictability, and if any rules arise during combat, don't expect them to apply throughout or even be respected ever again. Simply put," the human went on, chambering a round, "Anything goes, so, always keep on your guard."

By then, the li-tigon was on his feet again, giving a rather annoyed glare to his "friend". Shaking himself off, hearing the clatter of twenty or so rubberized globules hit the floor, he turned on his heel, suddenly, giving a sardonic look at Nasher and Kochai, who, bizarrely, had both tried to hide scoffs with their paws.

"What's so funny…" Freak said, in his equivalent of a whine, as Raj, too, grinned, "You'd have done the same, if this… crazy human suddenly shot you like that."

"_Nay, nay_, that's not it, my dear great nephew," Nasher said, attempting a tone of dignity, while holding back laughter, barely, "It's just… here. You have to see it for yourself."

Freak gave his mane an annoyed toss, and, following the direction indicated by the tiger's outstretched paw, made his way to a nearby pond. How irritating people could be, at times… but the li-tigon already felt no anger or resentment. He neither had the time nor the will to feel such useless emotions.

And, in fact, as he looked at this reflection, standing at the lip of that darkened pool, moonlight flashing sporadically off its miniscule waves, he too had to smile, if only for a second.

"Raj…" Freak said, turning slowly, expression still slightly warm, "You have a very, very strange sense of humor. But tell me—what was the purpose of dying my fur pink with gunshots?"

Indeed—Raj had fired at Freak not with rubber bullets, but paintballs: simmunition, of sorts. The li-tigon's entire side was nicely polka-dotted with neon pink dye that, hopefully, would wash out soon… …hopefully.

_"Spirits, I hope it does,"_ Freak thought, and, suddenly, anxiously, dived into the pond behind him without another word. Licking at himself wildly, or trying to, anyway, he regardless heard the human's next words.

"It seems that you've learned lesson two already," Raj laughed, watching the li-tigon's dismay as he realized that the dye wouldn't come out so easily, "Allowing yourself to be embarrassed and resultantly acting in anger or haste… may be fatal."

* * *

"So, little one, who do you think will win?"

"Well," Kochai said, before continuing in a louder voice, audible to the combatants, "My father is strong, smart, and this is his home. He's a very good fighter."

Stretching, hyperventilating to psyche himself up for the oncoming match, Nasher paused for a moment to smile at his daughter, snapping off a flashy salute. Shadowboxing, for a moment, executing a series of lightning fast strikes so unorthodox and deadly that Raj had to pause, impressed, hardly hearing what the kitten said next.

"But, Raj sahib, my money's on cousin Scar. He's even bigger and stronger than Father, and he's told me stories about fighting all over this world. So, even though this is Father's homeland, cousin Scar has a very clear upper paw. I don't think Father will be able to resist for long."

The two male cats were perhaps twenty five or thirty yards apart, sizing each another up. Oh, don't misunderstand—this wasn't a _real_ fight, just a friendly… _match_. Just to loosen their muscles, just to give Freak some much-needed practice. There was nothing malicious about it—no, really.

They were on a plain, covered with short, somewhat prickly grasses. The Season of the Rains, though, had made the landscape dreary and gray, increasing friction between the ground and whatever touched it—say, speeding paws. The Sun had been concealed by cloud cover for days, and, for days, it had been raining like it was now—heavily, but not so heavily that the match had to be called off, not at all.

Raj and Kochai were well off to the side, safely out of the way. The human had even constructed a simple shelter there, at the edge of a rather thick forest—a length of tarp kept himself and the kitten dry, so, below it, they were free to watch the battle ensue.

At the moment, he was mostly unarmed—he had a shack of weapons, food, ammunition, and other devices beyond the comprehension of his companions several miles off. A GLOCK 17 was holstered at his thigh, against simple camouflage pants. Clad in a fitted black tee that didn't restrict movement in the slightest, he ran a hand across Kochai's soft, striped fur.

"I tend to agree, Kochai… but do you really think the weights won't affect things?"

In contrast with Nasher's quick motions, Freak's practiced moves were sluggish, and slow. He tried to stretch, but was hardly able too—even then, he gave the umpteenth "do I really have to do this" sort of gaze to Raj—he was so weighted down that he could hardly move. Fifty pound packs were strapped around all four of his legs, and a jacket filled with iron fillings further slowed him.

This was going to be… a tough fight to win.

And yet, slowly, seeing that there was no escaping this, Freak found that there were maneuvers that he could execute—not strikes, necessarily, or dodges or brutal, unforeseeable counters. What the li-tigon could do, though, was wrestle, and well—if he managed to bring the fight to the ground, he could use his superior strength to pin Nasher and draw a winning move in the confusion that was sure to ensue.

The problem, of course, was that he'd been taught wrestling either by Nasher himself, or by Raj in front of Nasher. Hopes of taking the tiger off-guard were slim… but it was his best tactic.

Taking a few deep, long breaths, Freak looked up, locking eyes with his opponent. Rain ran shallow trails through his mane, but nothing distracted the li-tigon now—his focus was absolute.

Finally, from the side, Raj called out. "Ready?" he said, as a long, spiky tendril of lightning streaked out in the distance, "Then… Go!"

As thunder rocked the land, the fight began. Freak moved forward, slowly; even more slowly than his best speed was. Nasher came in much, much faster, but, as the fighters closed, the li-tigon already began to formulate a plan.

_"I'll let him come to me as he is—let him waste his energy. I'll block his attacks as best I can, and take what I can't—Raj said to avoid using claws, but I'm used to pain. I'll make this fight one of attrition… I have more stamina than him; I'm part lion. Once he exhausts himself, which shouldn't take long, I'll have my opening. I'll have my victory."_

Nasher's first attack was a flashy one, a somewhat frightening one. Darting to the side, first, in a feinted flank, he jumped forward, suddenly launching his full mass at Freak. Teeth bared, arms open in a twisted imitation of a hug, the tiger's slim, striped form shot forward at high speeds, giving the li-tigon no time to pull together a real response.

_"I guess this is one that I'll have to take…"_

It wasn't all as bad as that, though. Freak was able to rear up, somewhat, almost sluggish due to the hundred pounds of extra luggage weighing down his forepaws. To Nasher, the li-tigon seemed to almost be moving in slow motion, so much so that the tiger smirked, a little, working out an easy counter in his mind… before realizing that he was still closing far too fast to react.

As a result, Nasher scrambled, or attempted to, awkwardly twisting in air. Most of the effectiveness of his attack was lost as his midsection collided with Freak's powerful shoulder—in fact, this worked to the li-tigon's advantage. Thanks to his superiority in intertia, he barely moved, whereas Nasher almost crumpled against him, exhaling explosively.

Freak's paws were both off the ground, and, hoping to press his advantage, the li-tigon tried for a grab then and there. Nasher was too quick, though, so as the li-tigon's forelegs closed, they grasped at nothing but thin air.

The tiger had used his forepaws to push up, off Freak's back, jumping up into the air. He attempted to kick at the li-tigon's face, but was thrown clear too early. Still in the air, Nasher managed to execute a near-perfect twist, turning around to face Freak, or at least, Freak's back.

For his part, the li-tigon turned his head, knowing that Nasher would hit the ground soon and immediately come for him. So, now, he'd have to turn around quickly, without wasting energy—the solution, of course, was to take advantage of his fledgling forward momentum, tuck, and roll.

Drawing his shoulder down, Freak was on his feet again just in time to stop Nasher in his tracks. The tiger had been moving in, intent on headlocking Freak or showing that he could bite the li-tigon's neck, an instant win. Now, though, he just circled, muscles shifting over bones like a well-oiled machine.

"You're good, Scar—very good. How much weight are you wearing? Two hundred and fifty pounds, or more… _wah wah_. I must be getting old, because in my prime, the fight wouldn't have even lasted half this long."

_"Lesson One…"_ Freak thought to himself, not saying a word, _"There are no rules, so always be on your guard."_

Nasher fell silent, smirking a little and bowing his head in deference once to how quickly the li-tigon had defeated his attempted diversion. The tiger had conversed with Raj prior to the match, and the human had laid out a few good ideas that would both test how well Freak had learned his lessons, give him as tough of a fight as possible… and give Nasher the best shot at victory as possible. It was a mutually beneficial deal.

Freak was turning, slowly, trying to keep up with Nasher without using too, too much energy. The tiger's fighting style was explosive, intense, kick-ass-in-your-face… for minutes. After that, the li-tigon knew, Nasher would rapidly tire, form collapsing with strength and speed. So, as long as they both kept moving, Freak had the upper hand.

Nasher knew this. So, he needed to change the odds—how though? The answer was simple—attack and attack and attack and press the attack until the fight was done. There was no chance that the li-tigon would be able to take what he gave him, all at once, without showing some gap in his defense—no chance at all.

This time, the tiger didn't dive; he made sure to keep at least two paws on the ground at any given time. Moving in _fast_, he didn't bother to try to take out Freak's legs or go for a pin; he too knew that he stood a good chance of losing a wrestling match. Instead, the tiger batted fast and _hard_—for every one blow that the li-tigon successfully blocked, at least two came through.

Freak was able to roll with the blows, though, so, wasn't fazed by them _too_ much. He even managed to fight back, the power of his already vicious swipes multiplied by the added weight behind him. Though Nasher was able to snap off perhaps seven strikes for every one of the li-tigon's, a single shot from Freak's massive paw was enough to make the tiger rock back on his feet.

Wide arcs of water splaying out in all directions as Nasher dodged this way and that, throwing what body weight he could spare behind some blows, the fight wore on. Freak took hit after hit after hit, but refused to give up. Naturally, both cats' lips had peeled back, baring their teeth—but they didn't snarl. They didn't smile either, really, but sucked in and expelled air too powerfully to rely on their noses. For quite some time, Nasher seemed to be winning, and, once or twice, Freak was pushed to the brink of defeat by sudden combinations of attacks, but he always rebounded and ended up standing his gorund.

Their paws shattered raindrops into spray before slamming, hard, into their opponents. Flesh deformed, and, every now and then, a carelessly unsheathed claw would trace a long, red line across and into fur. Nasher pranced around his opponent, but Freak slowly shifted from offense to defense, as, finally, the tiger began to tire.

Now, every attack counted. The li-tigon had started his assault more early than he'd have preferred, but there was no alternative. Against such a sustained attack, he couldn't last much longer—so he had to move in now, while he still could.

Feeling bruises blossom under his fur, Freak didn't try for another grab—not now, not yet, it was too early. Instead, he started to move forward, working against the rain and his weight and the tiger's stubborn defense. Nasher seemed to realize that things weren't going well, and prepared to either escape or hit Freak with whatever he had left in a last ditch push—but the li-tigon was not one but two steps ahead of his opponent.

The second he saw Nasher's eyes flash, Freak jumped. His hind legs weren't burning nearly as much as his forelegs; they hadn't done nearly as much work. The li-tigon had launched himself forward, but it didn't matter if Nasher was dodging, attacking, or even escaping—whatever the tiger's plan was, Freak's preemptive response had ruined it.

As it turned out, Nasher was, in fact, attacking. Hoping that a sudden offensive would catch the li-tigon off-guard, he'd roared and gone low, intended to spring up, uppercutting Freak before slamming him down and ending the fight with a powerful, stylistic chop, elbow, or palm.

The li-tigon successfully cleared Nasher, and, as he was in control of the situation, wasn't nearly as surprised and even shocked with the way events had unfolded as the tiger. Wide-eyed, Nasher had gasped and looked up, confident snarl collapsing as he desperately tried to turn over and attack at Freak's midsection.

Too late.

Freak blocked Nasher's desperate kicks with one foreleg, drawing the other once back before unleashing it. Even without the weight, it was powerful enough to potentially dislocate limbs or break bones, so Freak didn't aim for a weakpoint—instead, he slammed his paw into Nasher's hip.

The Lion Sheikh must note that Nasher was right—he wasn't _that_ old, fortunately. Otherwise, such an attack could easily have broken his hp, crippling him for good.

What the attack did succeed in doing, though, was sending the already spinning tiger hopelessly off course. Nasher had no chance to recover and bounced, helplessly, growling and yowling, across the soaked, muddy ground. Freak wasn't much better off, though; the li-tigon didn't have enough time to bring his weighted paws in place to land.

Messily, he rolled, barely getting to his feet in time to turn and see that Nasher, too, was recovering from the exchange.

Despite the growing cramps and aches in his muscles, the painful stitch in his side from the exertion, Freak rushed him. He had neither the time nor the energy to think out an assault, and, to be fair, Nasher had even less time to react or think out a defense before the li-tigon was on him.

Struggling to see straight and breath through gasps and pants, Freak desperately wrestled Nasher. The tiger fought back tooth and nail, blasting at Freak's body with blow after blow; somehow, the li-tigon had pinned him in place.

Teeth gritted, Freak ignored the practical jackhammer at his chest and fought on. This was his only chance to win the fight; if he didn't commit to this one final assault Nasher would dance out of range and then attack his exhausted, weighted form—

"Ah! That's enough, that's enough, I give in, I give in, I give in—gah…"

Somewhere along the line, Freak had shut his eyes, tightly. Maybe it was to protect himself from the increasingly desperate flails of Nasher's paws, and the resulting spiderweb of clawmarks across his face, or maybe it was to prevent him from being overloaded with information—he didn't need vision to know that this was a desperate, desperate encounter.

The fight had gone to the ground, and even though Nasher had taught Freak most everything he knew about wrestling, the li-tigon had prevailed. The rain had lubricated the combatants, and that had played a roll. So had the added resistance from Freak's weights, and the exhaustion that Nasher had caused himself by attacking so relentlessly from the start of the fight.

Slowly, the two cats untangled themselves from one another. They _had_ to go slow; an improper move could result in the wet, sickly sound of meat leaving bone, and Freak was too worn out to do anything but collapse when he was free from Nasher.

Laying on their backs, both fighter panted, wincing at their temporary but painful injuries. Looking to the sky, they had to keep their eyes half shut due to the Rains that thundered inexorably down, finally soaking through their fur since they'd stopped moving. Tapping at his keyboard, the Lion Sheikh reveled in the poetic form of this paragraph—

"_Shabosh, shabosh_!" Raj called, applauding as he neared. The human's face was lit up with a smile, even as he undid the weights from Freak's limbs with a few deft, intricate maneuvers, "I'm very impressed, Scarred One; I didn't think you'd prevail. This is good, very good," he grinned, rubbing his hands together, "Your training is progressing quite well, we'll be ahead of schedule at this rate. I—"

"Oi, Raj…" Nasher said, suddenly on his feet, looking around, "Where is my daughter?"

The human's smile faded as he looked around, all around. But the tigress kitten was nowhere to be seen; she hadn't followed him to the two exhausted fighters, and she wasn't still at the tent, out of the rain.

"Someone needs to put a leash on that girl," Freak murmured as he too stood, somewhat shakily, muscles feeling sluggish and unresponsive, "Where could she have gone? Why—"

"Hello, Father, Raj sahib, and cousin Scar," said a voice from the nearby treeline, opposite the one where Raj had constructed the small shelter, "I have lunch!"

Kochai probably hadn't been gone for long; the fight was intense and too exciting to miss. And yet, it had only lasted for perhaps five minutes at _best_. That meant that she'd tracked down, somehow hunted, and _somehow_ hauled back her kill in the timeframe of mere minutes.

The three grown beings watched, dumbstruck, as she tugged hard at the neck of a deer. Her teeth sliced its skin, though, so, a second later she fell backwards but somersaulted cleanly, landing on her feet. After taking a moment to clean herself obsessively, licking her paws, snout, and chin, Kochai turned, smiling widely, before blinking and canting her head.

"What is it? Do I have something in my fur? Oh, no, Mother always said to wash my face three times a day, and I've already forgotten!" she groaned, quickly hastening towards a stream.

"No, Kochai, it's not your face," Raj said suddenly, standing, before walking to the downed herbivore. Checking its vitals with a brief touch, he shook his head, staring down at the kitten.

For a moment, Kochai just blinked back with her big green eyes, canting her head. She was almost humorously shorter than Raj, and quickly giggled and playfully "attacked" his boots, careful not to deal them any lasting damage.

Half-hobbling, Freak and Nasher walked over. Of course, the instant Raj looked over, the two cats straightened up, looking as dignified as they could, nibbling and examining their claws to show that their little fight had been nothing, nothing at all, just a little work out.

The human rolled his eyes, and, with some difficulty, hauled Kochai's kill onto his shoulders. So Freak and Nasher wanted to show how tough they were, fine—he'd given them an opportunity to do so.

The Rains had picked up, somewhat, and it would take quite some effort to get back to the basic shelter he'd erected at the far end of the field. The moment the human turned his back, though, the two cats all but collapsed, mouthing complaints about their aching backs, arms, and legs.

"Come on, you three; it's a long walk and I'm sure you're hungry. Or, could it be that you're unfit for such a simple task? Could it be—has the fight overtaxed you…? Surely, this is not so?"

Turning slowly, Raj gave both cats plenty of time to stand, proud and strong, as Kochai looked back and forth between them, bewildered.

"Don't let me hear you say such things ever again, boy; you need to learn some respect for your elders and betters. Unfit to walk three hundred yards? What an insult! I'm tempted to leave this place, even now."

"He's right. We're strong. Very strong. Three hundred yards is nothing. Don't underestimate us."

If any doubt remained in Raj's mind, Nasher's hyperbole and pomp as well as the unusually forceful tone in Freak's voice removed them. Nodding, bowing his head in apology, the human snickered to himself as he heard Nasher groan, thinking he was out of earshot, and complain.

"Just how on Earth can I walk _three hundred yards_ in such a condition? Great nephew, you're as disrespectful of your elders as that blasted human. No mercy, no restraint at all…"

"…Sorry."

The curt reluctance of Freak's reply made Nasher's lip twitch. No more words were shared, though, for the moment, as the two male cats struggled to follow Raj towards the shelter.

Half-limping, the tiger muttered under his breath, "Three hundred yards… I'm no longer a strapping young adult, I'm—not old, certainly not, not at all. But I'm not in my prime… three hundred yards. How can I do this?"

Kochai was dutifully flanking her father, affectionately rubbing his shin every now and then with her cheek. At that, though, she had to sigh and trot up in front of him, turning around as she made towards Raj.

"Easy, Father—the same way I killed a deer and brought it to you: mind over matter."

* * *

"Lesson number three, mind over matter…"

"So. Break the table."

Freak didn't react. Not immediately, anyway. After a moment, he made a show of looking across his supposed target, examining it slowly, carefully. Rain lubricated the structure, and it was a small wonder that it still stood; it wasn't bound or lashed together in any way that Freak could see.

"Raj," the li-tigon said slowly, setting a powerful, massive paw on the table. Flexing his muscles, for a moment, he pushed down, a little, but the structure didn't budge, not an inch. Since his training had started, he'd taken full advantage of his somewhat beefier frame; broader shoulders and a thicker chest. To begin with, he'd never been weak, at all. But now, his sheer muscular strength rivaled that of Kovu's… times two.

"How?"

The table was little more than a slab of stone raised off the ground by a few cinderblocks. It was perhaps nine feet long, and two feet wide… but three inches thick. It wasn't smooth, not quite; little flecks of sediments stuck out, here and there, offering grit against the li-tigon's paw as he rubbed over it, testing it for weak points—there were none.

"Simple—strike it. You should break it in one blow, or you'll hurt yourself," Raj warned.

Still, Freak looked skeptical. So, after a moment, the human sighed, and placed a spare cinderblock on the impromptu table. Taking a few moments to calm, breathe more deeply, and concentrate, he seemed to Freak to be gathering energy, somehow, or concentrating it.

When Raj struck, his blow fell with all the power of a lightning bolt. Smashed bits and pieces of clinker flew in all directions, showering the surrounding area with dust that rapidly coagulated into little drops of mud with the falling rain.

Still exhaling, the human slowly withdrew his open hand from the table, shaking it off slightly—not in pain, but, rather, to show Freak that he was uninjured despite having struck the block with his _palm_. He wasn't bleeding, bruised; his bones weren't broken and by flexing his fingers, he showed Freak that he hadn't been significantly affected by the strike at all.

"Correction," the human said after a moment, dusting himself off, "Don't strike the table: strike _through_ the table. You'd be surprised at how much energy a strike can generate, if you put your body weight behind it. Just remember," he warned, "You have to execute this move with complete confidence. If you fail to commit 100%, you will injure yourself."

Freak nodded, still somewhat awed by the human's incredible display. Looking at the table, he ground his teeth, for a moment, considering how best to do this.

_"I'll have to strike it directly in the center, that's the closest thing it has to a weak point. I can't strike and withdraw, like I'd generally do in a fight—that removes a good deal of force from the attack, and puts unnecessary strain on my foreleg. I'll have to aim… perhaps six inches below it. I'll jump, a little, I want to give myself as much energy as possible, but if I jump too high, I'll hurt myself."_

All in all, there was a relatively small window for a successful break, but, the li-tigon started to realize, it was doable…. Probably. Raj wouldn't tell him to do something like this with the goal of having him fail, because there was a very, very real possibility of serious and even permanent injury if Freak botched this.

That gave the li-tigon some confidence.

Rather than taking the long, slow breaths that Raj did, Freak hyperventilated, for a moment, to psyche himself up. Bouncing back and forth on his paws, for a moment, as if shadow boxing, he calmed, now that his muscles were warmed up, and practiced the strike once, twice, then three times.

Then, it was time for the real things.

As tunnel vision set in, causing Freak to block out what didn't significantly affect what he was about to do—the Rains, the terrain, Raj, and so on—the li-tigon felt a cold sense of purpose. He could do this. He _would_ do this.

Stepping forward twice, Freak jumped up, inhaling. At the apex of his ascent, he drew his paw back, throwing his shoulders askew, and waited... waited… waited… now!

Exhaling explosively, Freak struck down with every fiber of his being. Unlike Raj, he didn't open his paw; rather, he struck with the knife-like side, focusing as much energy as possible on as little space as possible.

The li-tigon hit the ground.

And, a moment later, the table did, as well… in two clean halves.

Panting, paw throbbing from the impulse, Freak found himself smiling as wide as he ever had--that had gone well; he was uninjured and the practice had been entirely successful. As the rest of the world started to regain meaning for the li-tigon, he turned to Raj, who was clapping, duly impressed.

"This is to show you, Scar, that there are times when you have to ignore the seeming impossibility of what has to be done, and just do it. Now, I'm not saying to ignore good sense, of course," he clarified, "But I hope you understand what I mean. At any given time, we only use maybe a third of our true power, at best. This is to prevent injury; if we use more than that at once for any period of time, our muscles will be destroyed. However… using more than a third of your true power here and there, on occasion, perhaps to finish a fight or to gain a meaningful foothold… it's effective," he finished, "Just use this tactic… sparingly."

Freak nodded. Now that things were calming down, he saw just how close he'd been to failure—his paw was starting to numb, as he automatically banished that nagging, dull pain emanating from it, and, he knew, it would be ginger for a day or two. The crack running through the slab was clean, it didn't fork off; not once—that meant that it had reached from top to bottom without a millimeter to spare.

"So…" the li-tigon said, slowly, "Essentially, this tactic is a double-edge sword, since it will hurt me even as it hurts my enemy?"

Raj nodded harshly, as if to ask Freak if he expected _not_ to be hurt in a fight.

"Then… I think I'll keep my mind as material as possible," the li-tigon said, shuddering once at the notion of lying helpless, without energy due to his own doing, at the feet of his demonic twin.

"There's sense in that, my friend; I just wanted to show you what you're capable of. I tend to agree with you, mostly," Raj said, heading off, back into the forest, before turning with a somewhat goofy smile, "After all… we live in a material world."

* * *

"Come on, Father, tell us another story, please?"

Age, Nasher was slowly starting to realize, wasn't that bad. Sure, he sometimes had to sneak off to brew certain concoctions out of this plant, those berries and that sap to bring out the orange in his coat, and sure, sometimes he found himself caught in awkward positions for minutes at a stretch until he cracked his back properly—but even with all that, and much more, it really was something to have not just his daughter, but now, even Freak and even Raj ask him for advice, tidbits of information, and, of course, stories from a time and world so far removed from the present that they might as well have been from another planet.

"_Ha_, Nasher sahib," Raj said, smiling hopefully, "Tell us one from your cubhood—a happy one, or a funny one. I like this."

Human emotions and expressions were, mostly, still mysteries to the cats. But if you were there, and listening closely, you might have noticed that there was a real _yearning_ in the boy's voice, some sort of deep, passionate need to hear a _happy_ childhood story from a being whose life was defined, mostly, by hardship, pain, and struggle.

Making a great show of considering, carefully, eying his daughter's best puppy eyes, Freak's blatantly feigned indifference, and Raj's open interest, Nasher sighed, slowly, and nodded. "All right, all right, I get the message… a funny one, hmm? Give me a moment; I've lived a long life and I have many memories to go through…"

It was surprisingly mild that night, so Raj had elected to not build a large fire. Rather, he'd only cooked through a leg of meat for himself and allowed the gentle, red glow cast by the campfire's resulting embers to remain as the only source of light for miles around. They'd been on the move, recently, and now, he'd mentioned, they were in the geographic center of the mesa. Here, a sea of tall grasses stretched for miles with little exception—they clogged out trees, bushes, ponds, and other plant life. Hunting was prime in this area; even as they sat, the group could easily detect at least three distinct herds of prey in their vicinity.

It was a clear night, or, at least, clear enough that the Moon could brighten the environment up, somewhat. Burning through a silky veil of clouds, its light was gentle, hazy; a soft touch—no more. Thousands of stars twinkled overhead, and, at times, they could even be seen through the sparse clouds—at times. For the Season of the Rains, this was a rare treat, one that the cats and Raj would enjoy—tomorrow, the human had said that stormclouds would roll in and stay for a week, at least.

"I've got one."

Nasher cleared his throat, sitting up, a little, as Kochai smiled happily and jumped not on him, but on Freak, resting on the li-tigon's side, attention completely on her father. Raj turned, a little, tying his shoe so that his face was shadowed, the interest and even relief on it hidden.

"This was before the Triangle of Pain existed—the villages were there, of course, but the humans didn't hunt nearly as much. There were no foreigners, so, lions and tigers were quite common. We even met each other, sometimes, and didn't have to fight over food, or water, or suspect each other of collaboration. Happy days," Nasher said dreamily, before continuing.

"I was very young, then, not even a juvenile. It was after the Season of the Rains by perhaps a month or two, when all the prey comes out of hiding and we can eat like kings to fatten up after mostly fasting for a whole season. So, I was hunting a deer, minding my own business, when along came a mother and her two cubs, both males, both littermates."

"They were brothers, to be sure, but all similarities between them ended there, just like that," Nasher grinned.

"One of them—ah, I cannot remember his name—he was a decent tiger… strong, proud, a good son to his mother and a good hunter... His brother, though—heheh. Not so much."

"I don't know where he heard this garbage," the tiger snickered, "But, if you'll believe me, he was bawling, telling all of Hindustan how stars aren't the spirits of our ancestors, as everyone knows—even I accept that, though I'm an atheist," Nasher rolled his eyes, "But he was yelling—yelling, I say, that they're actually balls of gas, burning billions of miles away."

"His mother, poor thing, kept telling him to shut up, but he didn't listen, and kept spouting off about how the future of our race isn't in tradition, but in the religion of science—how he thought such a stupid belief was scientific, I don't know, but there you are—anyway…"

"So he kept yelling about this, that, and the other thing—I was almost pushed to a point where I jumped out of hiding and put that idiot in his place; he'd even gone and scared off my prey, but his brother beat me to it."

"He slapped him only once, but that's all it took. He slapped him, and then, I didn't hear what he said exactly, but that's not the point. They left that fool behind to fend for himself—I heard his brother call back that if he ever approached them again, even when they were stars in the Heavens, he'd kill him."

There was a pause, a silent pause.

"Got it? Balls of gas, burning billions of miles away? What a—what a gas, right? Hahahaha…" Nasher laughed, rolling over… not quite realizing that, inexplicably, Kochai, Freak, and most of all, Raj, were totally silent.

After a moment, though, the tiger sat up, and looked, confused, smirking, at his companions. "What is it? Do you not understand the joke? Come on, it's not so hard to understand—balls of gas… burning, burning billions of miles away?" he chuckled, "Got it, now?"

Still, there was silence for a moment. Nasher's smile slowly fell, and he was about to say something—perhaps a few pointedly sharp words—when Raj grinned once.

The human was hunched over, but rose his head, a little, to offer the tiger a rather dry, strange smile.

"Technically, Uncle… he was right."

Freak, Nasher, and Kochai all reacted similarly—they blinked, and were about to demand an explanation, but the human continued.

"Stars are indeed balls of gas, burning billions and billions of miles away," the human said, in a strange tone that they'd never heard before, "But it's my belief that they're _also_ the spirits of our ancestors."

"Sometimes, science is the future of our race, not… misplaced, rigid, obsolete tradition," Raj continued, standing, kicking some dirt onto the fire, "And, sometimes," he said, suddenly facing Nasher with unmistakable anger, "Estranged brothers and sons _don't_ want to approach their families, not even in Heaven."

He didn't twitch, didn't fidget, didn't react at all to the dramatic scene he'd unwittingly created. Raj's fists were clenched, shoulders tense, but, after a moment, he took in a deep breath, let it out, and smiled at Nasher, quite venomously.

"I enjoyed your story, Uncle. It was very _funny_," he practically spat, before turning, and storming off into the darkness.

For a moment, all eyes were on the human's retreating form. Then, Freak and Kochai turned to Nasher—the tiger's expression was unreadable.

"Well," he said eventually, softly, but quite audibly, "I'm glad that _some_one enjoyed my story. You two," he murmured, almost growling, turning, slowly, to face his great nephew and daughter, "If I take the time and effort to try to make you laugh, you could at least placate me by _smiling_—"

"Father…" Kochai whispered.

"Yes, what is it?" the tiger said, really growling now, until he saw the sadness in the kitten's eyes, "Wh… Kochai, what is it…?"

"Don't you understand?" Freak said quietly, canting his head noiselessly, as Kochai sniffled once, "A brother abandoning a brother because they're irreconcilably different…"

Slowly, Nasher's eyes widened. Standing, suddenly, the tiger looked around—Raj was nowhere to be seen, so he sniffed, instead, desperately hoping that, somehow, the human hadn't left them for good.

"Before you go…" the li-tigon said, placing a paw gently on top of Kochai, "Tell me. What happened to the cub… the one that got abandoned… what was his fate, what was his destiny?"

Nasher looked to Freak, paused, but didn't answer. Instead, he just turned and ran.

* * *

The posture Raj had assumed was reminiscent of another human from the subcontinent—one who had, in fact, heavily influenced his religious values. Seated, hands neatly folded in his lap, Raj had closed his eyes, and, slowly, concentrated on his feelings, meditating, bringing all the energy he normally expelled from his body back inside.

"_Don't_… approach…" he said quietly.

Nasher froze in his tracks, a full ten yards away. He'd approached the human silently, almost predatorily, but, somehow, Raj had picked up his movement and reacted in his own way. The tiger blinked, shrugged, and sat, waiting for a real response… but Raj didn't budge. Not for five minutes, not for ten, fifteen, or twenty.

Then, all at once, Nasher blurted out, "I don't know why you're upset, boy. All of us have to learn to laugh at ourselves—"

"So," the human said, eyes narrowing just the slightest bit, "It's funny when a young person is expelled from his family for, essentially, being different? When, instead of loving and accepting him, and doing what they can to affect his vies, his family rejects him to the point that they make it _poignantly_ clear that he's not even welcome to share afterlife with them?"

That silenced the tiger for a cool moment or so. His lip twitched once, before he sighed, and grudgingly conceded, "Not… when you put it like that. Still, boy, I don't understand—"

"Of course you don't," Raj said simply, still refusing to stand or even face Nasher, "How could you? You don't know anything about family life—I don't care if this is hard to hear," he spoke over the tiger's fledgling protest, "It needs to be said. You've lived alone for how long, now? You got married—congratulations. But you know better than I do that you struggle to be a half-decent father—I don't know what kind of a husband you were; Asal never spoke about you much other than to praise and worship your every facet."

"I suppose Scar told you how you upset me—but I don't know why you're here. I don't know what you intend to accomplish."

Finally, the human stood and faced Nasher. His hands were bare, and, in the overwhelming darkness of the night, the most Nasher saw of him was a vague silhouette.

"You don't care, do you? At least, you don't care enough to change. This isn't about me," Raj continued, "Insult me, laugh at my fate; I don't care. But what about your daughter—you're callous to her needs, you know. Oh, you tell her stories and give her food and play with her—great, ah?" the human laughed humorlessly, "But, have you ever once taught her something meaningful—not about survival, but about social responsibility, about spiritual health, about acceptance, tolerance, and compassion—"

"Boy… not… one word… more…"

Raj fell silent at that. His hand drifted imperceptibly closer to his thigh and the automatic holstered at it. His night vision was far worse than Nasher's; for all he knew, he was about to be attacked. But then, his eyes widened as he recognized the quavering tone in the tiger's voice.

"You're right. I don't know how to be a good father, and it's too late for me to be a great husband. Don't judge me too harshly; I was raised in a world and time different from this one. I feel… I feel out of place," he finished heavily, "I'm too old to adapt to the new Hindustan; for almost my whole life, my only concern was survival. Now… I've been taken away from the only certainty I ever had. From the moment my mother died until the moment I met Asal, I had to do one thing only. Now… I don't know what to do. I don't know how to be a good father to Kochai, though, Lord knows she needs at least one parent, now…"

"Well… I don't know how to be a good father, Uncle, of course," Raj said, after a moment, "But what I do know is that accepting your faults so that you can overcome them is a good step."

Neither an apology nor the acceptance of an apology had been blatantly spoken. But, after another moment, the human and the tiger approached, shared a brief, somewhat gruff, but heartfelt embrace, before breaking, and, wordlessly, heading back to Freak and Kochai.

"But tell me, Uncle," Raj said, as they walked, side by side, through the lush jungle, "The cub, the one who was expelled from his family… what happened to him?"

The tiger was silent, for a moment, thinking, pondering, before sighing, closing his eyes, and delivering the answer as quietly, softly, and quickly as possible.

"He died… suicide."

* * *

"Lesson number four… practice makes perfect.

"But, please, be gentle. I'm just a boy, after all."

Raj's arms were bare, and that would give Freak a second or two to react. They were standing perhaps twenty yards apart, each bouncing on their feet, ready to move the second the human started the fight. Nasher and Kochai were off, together—the tiger was teaching his daughter some sort of hunting trick, or, instead, was just on a day out with her.

To make things fair, Raj had his G3 slung not across his chest, as he'd normally have done when ready to fight, but over his back. He still had a pistol, knife, and his bare hands and feet (for all the good they'd do) after his rifle, but they likely wouldn't come into play here and now.

The purpose of this exercise wasn't to gauge whether or not Freak could, in fact, defeat his twin. Rather, it was to get him used to fighting a bipedal being that used firearms, explosives, and blades. And since Freak couldn't use his jaws or claws at _all_, and could only use gentle, slow bats, tackles, and pins, this practice certainly would do the li-tigon good—if he could defeat Raj with so many handicaps, he stood a good chance of being able to take Kifo.

"Ready? All right," Raj said, shifting his stance, just a little, "Ready…. go!"

Freak ran low, fast, intent on reaching the human before he got his rifle fully out—damn, too late, too slow. Raj brought his gun to bear with stunning alacrity, so Freak jumped off to the side, as rubber rounds blew divots into the muddy ground behind him.

They were facing off in a somewhat sparse forest—Raj was in a small clearing, and trees all around him offered Freak some cover as he darted this way and that. This certainly wasn't the same as fighting a foe with a hunting rifle, where after dodging one shot, or perhaps two, he could move in and finish things in one or two deft moves. Worse, Raj was being smart—he didn't just spray bullets in Freak's general direction and pray for a hit, he waited and aimed and only fired in staggered bursts.

The li-tigon's quick motion kept him from getting hit, at first, but he knew that couldn't last. So, just as he guessed that Raj was about to start firing again, he turned on his heel and rushed at the human again.

Too slow.

Raj's rifle bullets veered off course, at first, but the moment Freak came at him linearly, he didn't even bother to fire. He just held his aim on the li-tigon for a full two seconds, sighed, lowered his rifle, and waved his hand.

"If this was real combat, Scar, you'd be dead," he said shortly, as Freak skidded to a halt in front of him, "You can't do that again. You can't come straight at me. The only time such an attack will work is if I'm out of ammunition, caught in the precise middle of a reload, or if my weapon's caught up on something. Understand?"

The li-tigon nodded, curtly—not impolitely. He just knew, as well as Raj did, that time was of the essence. The two fighters reset their positions, and, ten seconds later, they were ready to go at it again.

This time, a plan formed in Freak's mind—slowly, but surely. It was risky and it would tiring, but he knew that the only way he could fight a human and therefore his twin was by closing the distance between them.

So.

"Ready?" Raj said, "All right… go!"

Running forward for as long as he dared, Freak turned aside _just_ in time to dodge the barrage of bullets Raj sent at his approaching form. The li-tigon now ran in a circle around the human, changing his pace, now and then, zigzagging, here and there, so that even though some bullets came close, he wasn't hit.

Normally, this tactic was unsustainable. But the li-tigon was, slowly, but surely, spiraling in on his opponent. Raj realized this, and tried to back away while firing more rapidly—

It almost worked. Really, it was close. But Freak jumped into the air, rebounded off a tree, and, as bullets traced harmlessly next to him, where Raj had projected his position to be, he landed—just in front of the human.

"I win," the li-tigon said coolly, "What now?"

Raj grinned, once, and reloaded, calmly. Then, leveling his rifle directly at Freak's face, he said, "Now… we practice fighting hand to hand. Ready? Go."

* * *

"I know I say this a lot, Scar, but I'm deeply impressed," Raj said, adding another log to the happily burning fire at his feet, "You're a very quick learner. I bet that you'll be ready to get to your own home within the week, and make short work of this twin of yours."

"On that topic," the li-tigon said, suddenly raising his head in concern, "How… am I supposed to get home?"

It wasn't raining, not really—it was misting, though, and heavily. The fog was so thick that visibility was limited to fifteen yards at best, and, with the addition of cloud cover, if Freak hadn't been continually convinced about the security of the Sacred Mesa for the past week, he would have been jumping at every crackle the fire made.

"I was wondering that, myself," Nasher said, tilting his head to the side, before lowering his voice—Kochai was napping, happily, at his side, "After all, this Land of the Spirits… it's very far away, yes? I wonder how my brother reached it," the tiger said, before shrugging. "I suppose some things will always be a mystery to us."

Raj seemed to be pondering, mulling things over in his mind. Freak let out a somewhat worried breath, and concentrated, hard, for a moment… before sighing in frustration.

_"I haven't been able to contact anyone, not even Asal, or the Dark One, since I've arrived in Hindustan. I'm doing everything right, I know it... I suppose it's not my fault. Someone, or something else is blocking my communication with them…"_

"Got it," Raj said suddenly, "It's a little crazy, but I have a plan…"

As the human had said, the plan was a little… out there. But it was doable, if barely. There were three stages—in the first one, they'd get Freak away from the Sacred Mesa, to the south—it would be a long journey, taking a full twenty four hours, or so—where there was a river. There, stage two would begin: Raj knew of a bi-monthly transport, a ship, he called it, that would go from Hindustan to the vicinity of the Land of the Spirits—it would take a long time, but Freak would know when to dismount the ship by sighting Pride Rock. Stage three involved swimming all the way to the Desert, then, trekking it up to the Pride Lands.

"I don't know precisely how close the ship will get to the coast, but it won't be closer than fifteen miles, I'll tell you right now," Raj warned, "But you learned to swim from, ah, Salim, right? Fifteen miles, though… do you really think you can do it?"

"I… well, I don't know," Freak said, looking off into the distance, "Fifteen miles is a long way. …But there's no choice. I'll have to do it."

Raj nodded solemnly, before speaking again. "I'd accompany you," he said, "But I have unfinished business here, in Hindustan. My brother, and his group… it's time that they… vanished… from the pages of time. Like the Banghar Clan."

_"If he can talk about killing his brother so easily… then, I have no excuse for feeling reluctance to kill my so-called twin—I've never seen him in my life, and he's worse, a thousand times worse, than Shah."_

"Well spoken, Raj," Nasher said, a little harshly, "Oi, Scar… I'd join you, too, but I can't swim even two miles—this, I'm sure of."

The li-tigon nodded—he'd have to take this journey alone, it seemed. But that was alright—he'd spent the majority of his life alone…

_"Heh, that's funny. Now that I think of it, I've only known other beings, other cats; I've only had friends for… a year, now, give or take a month. I spent at least a few years in the Jungle, in solitude… but I can hardly remember those days, now, or at least their specifics. All I can remember is that it was hard. Hard, and lonely."_

_"It looks like my destiny isn't one in solitude, after all…"_

That thought was comforting. The idea of perhaps—_perhaps­—_growing old with company, of perhaps creating a family, even a pride of his own…

_"Farfetched."_

_"But… possible. Possible."_

Remote, outside possibilities are very interesting things. For starters, they're remote, outside possibilities—secondly, despite their remote, outside nature, they can inspire so much hope and passion that people run their lives on them.

* * *

"Lesson five: getting blown up is not good for your health."

"I… would _never_ have guessed that."

Raj opened one eye. Leaning against a tree with crossed arms, he was cool, confident, in his element… but…

"You completely tripped me up, Scar. I was on a roll, don't you see? Now, I'll have to start over.

"Like I was saying… being—wait, no. Get—being… _getting_ blown up is not good for your health. Not at all. No. So," he said, moving suddenly, crouching down and beckoning Freak over, "You need to know your enemy, yes?

"There are two basic types of explosives that you might encounter," Raj said, counting off his fingers, "Concussive, and incendiary. Concussive explosives create high pressure shock waves that are born, and die, very quickly—they're the ones that'll throw you around like a ragdoll, turn trees into toothpicks, that kind of thing.

"Incendiary explosives, on the other hand… they're what burn you. They go off slowly, so you will have the possibility of shielding yourself from at least the worst of a flaming explosion. But," Raj said, "There are exceptions. One is a hybrid concussive-incendiary explosive—it will use concussion, a quick push, to spread unlit fuel all around, before burning up. The other is a sticky fuel… if it touches you and lights, you'll have to smother it for a few seconds if it doesn't burn you to the bone, first.

"But don't be a, ah, 'fraidy cat," the human laughed, "I'm going to show you a few tricks that will protect you from even the biggest of explosions."

"I already know one, I think," Freak said, watching as Raj pulled out several devices, similar to the one that had resulted in his capture, "Heat is transferred slowly, by some medians, and water consumes it well. That means that I have a natural defense against fire—that means I may be able to jump directly through lighter incendiary explosions."

The human grinned. "Sometimes, Scar, I wonder if you even need me at all. So… do it."

Raj's arm flashed, throwing a small, cylindrical device through the air where it spun, twice, before hitting the ground, bouncing, trailing a long line of flame behind it. The result was a wall of fire about three feet wide, ten feet long, and four feet high.

"So. Jump through it."

It would have been dramatic if Freak approached, close enough to the flames that his whiskers singed, sizing up his enemy, before pausing, tensing, and leaping over the wall. It would also have been unrealistic and foolish, and the li-tigon was generally not one for grandeur.

Freak circled, a little, until he was perpendicular with the fire wall—this way, he'd minimize contact with it. At a full fifteen yards away, he felt the heat come and go in waves, and knew that there was no sense in waiting.

At such a close distance, a clean sprint wouldn't give him the speed necessary to cross without injury. Yep… there was no dignified way to do this—ah, well.

He scrambled, fast and hard, and jumped rather messily. Freak flailed, somewhat, as well, striking several ridiculous postures in midair, but there was a method to his madness—every excess motion caused air to move, and, in the high temperatures generated by the fire, every millijoule of heat wicked away from him was worth it.

The li-tigon landed and ran, for a moment, until he was reasonably far from the wall of fire. Turning quickly to check that he wasn't burning, the li-tigon batted, once, at the smoldering tip of his tail, before relaxing and looking at Raj.

"Well," the human said, after a minute, "You've done it."

Freak did his best to hide his elation at having accomplished the terrifying, terrible feat—now, he'd never have to do it again… except… on the battlefield…

Raj, though, was shrewd and quick and caught the li-tigon's relief. At first, it seemed nothing would come of it, but then, the human spoke in a somewhat noncommittal, offhand manner.

"Well, you know what they say… practice makes perfect…"

Freak twitched.

_"Bah."_

* * *

"Lesson six… how to kick ass at close range."

"Obviously," Raj said, "I can only help you with this so much; I'm just a human, a ragdoll compared to your might. Still, I hope you'll find the skills I can teach you useful."

"All I want you to do is try to disarm me, or block me from raising or aiming a weapon, alright? After that, we'll do something else. For now, though, let's keep it simple, and work our way up."

Nasher and Kochai were watching from closeby, seated side by side. Raj looked rather bulky—he'd packed as many weapons on him as possible. He had pistols at his hips, thighs, ankles, at the small of his back, two more in his vest; he had knives of all shapes and sizes all over his body: push-daggers, machetes, butterflies, karambits, and even a ballistic or two. And that was what Freak could _see_.

"At close range, when we're face to face," Raj said, "You can bite, tackle, or knock me into a tree, maybe. But if I get a gun or knife out and hit you just right… it won't matter."

There was a somewhat grim pause, for a moment. It was raining lightly, but under the tall, tall trees of this part of the Sacred Mesa (which a more well-traveled being might have likened to the Black Hills of the Land of the Spirirts), the group was relatively dry.

Freak and Raj were no more than two feet away, at best. Most others would feel intimidated, standing so close, face to face, without the protection of a fence, plexiglass, or loaded weapon, but not Raj. He'd been around Asal for years, and now, Freak for weeks. He felt not even the slightest bit of fear.

The human was standing with weight on one foot, the other slightly forward. His hands were inches from his sides, and he moved them around, slowly, in coy, deceptive motions, guising his intentions.

Freak wasn't quite used to how humans moved, manipulated their arms in manners he couldn't hope to imitate. But, by watching, the li-tigon was able to realize, slowly, that maybe, just maybe, he could beat the system, so to speak.

"And now… we go."

Raj held one hand forward in a deterrent block, that Freak could easily have chopped down, of course, while his other hand dropped to his thigh. The li-tigon had to act fast, but there was only one way to react, in his mind.

Rather than engaging in a series of quick, short moves that Raj would win, the li-tigon pounced on his "trainer".

He was gently, of course, but Raj let out a loud, surprised, "Oof!" regardless. Freak had slipped under his bare hand, wrapped a foreleg around his torso and strong arm, gently bringing him down on his side—now, the li-tigon could easily have bitten through Raj's neck, but buddies don't bite through buddies' necks.

"I win," Freak said, somewhat humorously, "Right? I blocked you from raising a weapon."

"Technicalities, technicalities," Raj said, as he struggled to get free of the li-tigon's massive foreleg, "I meant, without jumping on me. All right? Now, we'll start again, once you let me go."

Finally, Freak released his human friend, grinning thinly. The boy was a bit of a workaholic, and it was fun to grind his gears from time to time, just a little. The duo resumed their positions, and, after a moment, went at it again.

This time, Raj went for two daggers on his chest, using both hands. In the split second it took for the human to grasp them between his fingers and draw them, partially, Freak came to a decision. The li-tigon reached forward, and batted down, gently, so that his paw struck the back of Raj's hands. Against such a light blow, Raj easily could have kept his weapons, to be sure, but that wasn't the purpose of this exercise—the purpose was for Freak to practice disarmament at close range, to get a feel for the human physique.

Raj dropped his daggers, allowing his hands to crumple and deform around Freak's paw as they might have if the li-tigon had struck him with full force. Hooking one hand around Freak's paw, though, the human went for a pistol at his hip.

Freak was too quick, though, and allowed Raj to move his paw out of the way, at first, before circling around below the human's hand and batting sideways, shoving the barrel of the human's weapon off center, off course—perfect. Reacting, Raj brought his disarmed hand up and dropped down to the ground, pinning Freak's one paw under his weight. His other hand went for a knife under his far shoulder, not even bothering to draw it fully before slashing outwards. The li-tigon still had a free paw, though, and in a circling maneuver, deflected the assault upwards—that gave him a perfect opening for a glancing claw to the neck or face, or a chance to dive in and use his jaws.

Which he didn't, of course—buddies don't use their jaws on buddies. What Freak did do, though, that made Raj "Oof!" loudly again in surprise, was jump on the human, gently… again.

Pinned, somewhat dazed, despite how gentle the li-tigon had been, Raj gave a sardonic look at the li-tigon, who was pinning him easily, trying hard not to laugh.

"What's so funny about this, Scar? I've already told you, I'm a ragdoll compared to you, why rub salt into wounds like this? This isn't—oi, stop laughing, this isn't funny! Hey! Listen to me when I'm talking to you!"

The li-tigon had started to grin, quietly—he wasn't quite sure why. Maybe it was because Raj was normally so cool, confident, so suave and so balanced, or maybe it was because Kochai was giggling madly at the li-tigon's open, blatant defiance of the human's orders. Maybe it was because Nasher had started to laugh, too, or maybe it was because the human's protests, and pathetic struggles were, some way or the other, hilarious.

Eventually, Raj too started laughing. But, even as the cats slowly quieted, he kept laughing, bizarrely, for another few moments. Slowly, though, the humor in his eyes died, as he looked, pointedly, at the fact that as he'd been taken down by Freak, he'd somehow managed to get out a .44 snubbie—a powerful, compact pistol that could have easily ended the li-tigon's story then and there, if it had been loaded.

"This," the human said quietly, "Is not a laughing matter."

* * *

"I don't think this twin of yours will have much as far as advanced technology goes," Raj said, performing the final series of tests and warm-ups on one of his little friends, so to speak, "But we do need to give you practice dodging bullets, explosives, et cetera... so. This machine is programmed to attack you until I tell it to do otherwise. I'll keep it still for five minutes, then, I'll let it pursue you on its own for two or three... and then, Scar, I'll control it. I'll pursue you."

"And take care," the human said, "We're not using live rounds, but I'm out of simmunition; we're using a plastic-rubber composite, now. Getting hit by these will hurt... and, at close range, potentially maim or even kill. Understand?"

Freak nodded. The device in front of him was alien and bizarre; if the li-tigon had had some semblance of a normal cubhood, it might have reminded him of intense curiosity and slight revulsion felt during his first encounter with, say, a dragonfly. Mounted atop a slender pole with thick, multicolored cables running from its "head" to its base were a group of weapons—a machinegun, a chaff/flare launcher, a flamethrower… and a grenade launcher.

This would be a tough fight… especially since Freak wouldn't even be fighting his enemy—he'd just avoid taking fire. To do that for ten minutes or more would not be easy.

Still, Freak had a fighting chance. The forest they were in was reasonably thick; trees would offer plenty of cover, except against the dummy grenades, of course. He hadn't really had a chance to watch one of Raj's fighters work, but that was, in a way, good—he would never have a chance to see how his twin fought until it was actually time to take him.

"Alright," Raj said, "For my own safety, I'll be in the trees—and no cheating and using me as a human shield, yes? Don't worry about the forest, either; it's too wet for me to start a real conflagration, unless I really try to. I regret the damage bullets will do to things, but there's no alternative. No choice," the human sighed, "Life feeds on death, pain, and suffering… and this is necessary."

"I agree," the li-tigon said, "…So… there's no use in delaying. Let's begin," he said harshly.

Raj nodded, and gave the li-tigon a lopsided smile before they split, going their separate ways.

"Good luck…."

The human took to the trees, as he'd said. His perch gave him a view of both his machine, and Freak. The li-tigon stuck to the ground, of course, and, for now, faced his opponent head on, in a relative clearing—to make this practice mean something he'd have to challenge himself. Taking shortcuts, easy ways out… in the end, he'd only be hurting himself. And everyone and everything in the Land of the Spirits that he cared about.

Dancing on his paws, for a moment, the li-tigon's eyes darted around rapidly, as he memorized the lay of the land.

_"Ditch there. Clump of trees here. Stream there. Foliage there. Mud throughout. I can do this."_

Don't mistake Freak's confidence for cockiness—he was going to take no chances in this fight, but, at the same time, he knew that he wouldn't have to take undue risks, or result to desperate tactics… …hopefully. He could do this. Hopefully.

"Ready?" Raj called, as he straddled a thick, powerful limb.

Freak nodded, and, after some hesitation, snapped off a Kochai-style salute.

"Alright," the human grinned, before his voice, his eyes, and his fingers steeled, "Weapons hot…" the machine moved, slightly, transforming from a limp pile of metal into a deadly, powerful weapon with a soft, high-pitched squeal, "And… here we go."

The gunfire was immediate, intense. The machinegun Raj had mounted on his mobile weapons platform wasn't styled after his G3, or a lighter automatic weapon in a smaller caliber—no. This one was a Deuce, a .50 BMG heavy machinegun—its rounds were, all in all, five and a half inches long—that's five and a half inches of primer, powder, and, of course, purpose-built synthetic compounds designed to injure, wound, and, if need be, kill. Even though the bullets Raj had loaded into this weapon were less-than-lethal, they were only slightly so—indeed, even as the human watched the gun spray dozens of rounds in a wide arc, trailing _just_ behind Freak, bark was chipped from trees, and untold numbers of plants even _miles_ away were reduced to pulp.

Somehow, Freak vanished from sight—the machine stopped firing, for a moment, looking around blankly with its integrated cameras, analyzing light from both the visible and infrared spectrums. Raj removed his fingers from his ears, and grinned as he heard the distant roar of bullets still traveling downrange.

"Powerful, isn't it, Scar? But I must commend you—did you get hit, even once? No? _Shabosh, shabosh…_"

Silence was Raj's only reply. The human shrugged, and, for a moment, looked around for the li-tigon… but, of course, he was unsuccessful.

"To give this exercise purpose, Scar, you'll have to show yourself. Come, don't be shy…"

"I already am showing myself," said a voice from several yards directly in front of Raj, "I can't help it if your machine is stupid."

"Wh—I said no using me as a human sh—"

"I'm not," Freak said incredulously, looking from the machine to Raj, head canted, "It has a direct line of fire to me, unimpeded by you. Why doesn't it look up and around, as a real foe would?"

Raj twitched, and swallowed, closing his eyes for a moment.

"It's not a real foe. …New rule," the human growled, grinding his teeth, "No leaving the forest floor, alright? If you make the battle three-dimensional, it'll never be able to track you. The same is true for your twin—trust me on this one, Scar. I'm a good shot, and a quick one, too, but keeping a bead on a target that moves seamlessly from the ground to the trees… it's damned difficult. Alright? Damned difficult."

The li-tigon nodded, filing away that fact away in his mind, carefully—when he fought his twin, if he needed a quick escape, all he'd have to do is take to the trees.

"Alright, Raj…" Freak said slowly, as he slid out of the trees.

When he was still in midair, the machine opened fire on him again.

Somehow, the li-tigon managed to dodge, contorting himself _quickly_, so that the first three bullets roared past _just_ next to his chest. Then, hitting the ground, he ran perpendicular to the oncoming fire.

The machine had wizened up, a little, and only fired bursts now—short, two or three round blasts that gave the barrel a chance to cool. Freak stayed one step ahead of them, though, if barely, and, slowly, figured out little techniques to keep him safe from gunfire—yes, perhaps, he could do this.

The li-tigon dived behind a tree to take a quick break, for a moment—breathing hard, panting, he heard several bullets hit the trunk, chipping off bark explosively, but failing to reach him. There was a pause, and the li-tigon considered what to do next—perhaps practice approaching the machine to attack, or staying relatively still, or—

He saw it, and that was the real irony of it. Freak watched the conical shell of the 40mm dummy grenade impact the ground next to him, burying a few inches into the soil, before it exploded.

Freak managed to shield himself from the worst of the rubbery fragments that were thrown at him by jumping forward and pressing himself to the ground, but that didn't help much. Getting up slowly, painfully, the li-tigon shook his legs out irritably—from his flank down, his body was on fire, nerves tingling with pain—that had hurt.

Fortunately, though, he was still protected from the machinegun; even though several more shots were fired, none came remotely close to hitting him. Ricocheting off the tree at strange angles, flattening into disks, the bullets landed anywhere but within ten yards of Freak—good.

Taking a minute to compose himself, the li-tigon pondered, eyes narrowing, face hardening. It was humid, of course, quite humid; the ground was muddy and thick and slippery. Some leaf cover further limited his optimal speed, but things were completely stacked against him—vines dangled down from the treetops, offering the chance of a quick, unexpected escape through the air, increasing the distance and height Freak could jump.

Formulating a plan, knowing that he had only seconds before another grenade was fired, Freak prepared to run—he had to wait until the last second, when the machine would be reloading it's most powerful weapon, to execute his move.

This time, the li-tigon didn't wait for the grenade to hit the ground—as soon as he heard the dull "ploomp" of it being fired, he was off.

He'd guessed, correctly, that the machine would have trouble opening up with its machinegun immediately after firing a grenade. Raj had intentionally programmed that handicap in, a real fighter would be unlikely to use more than one weapon at once with any effectively.

Feet scampering across the ground, slipping, slightly, until they caught hold against something, the li-tigon sprinted, face set, towards his goal. Of course, he wasn't running directly towards the machine, he was running at an angle offset from it by about 30 degrees. The advantage to this tactic was that the closer he got, the quicker the turret had to turn to track him… the disadvantage, of course, was that if he got hit at this range, he'd be down for the count.

As it turned out, though, Freak was able to get next to the machine. Changing his path as quickly as possible, he ran _just_ behind it, as it struggled to turn to pump rounds into him at point blank range. Shadowboxing for a few split seconds, showing that he could have, if he wanted to, demolished the contraption in the brief seconds he had to harm it, Freak felt his confidence rise… yes, he really could do this.

Then, though, the machine stopped tracking him with its .50 and grenade launcher. Instead, it used its flamethrower.

Freak felt the wave of heat and fire rush towards him, and ran. The burning gasoline clawed at him, even as thick, black smoke rose up into the air and the wet leaves of the jungle were steamed and then roasted, but he prevailed, and managed to escape.

The wall of fire obfuscated him from both the machine's visible light and infrared cameras, and that was helpful. Freak had enough time to not only search for cover but find it, and take it, pausing, for a moment, to both catch his breath and plan another move.

"You're doing quite well, Scar," Raj called from the trees—he'd seen where Freak had gone, "I'm impressed. Are you ready for the next stage of difficulty, however—shall I let it move and actively pursue you?"

The li-tigon was pressed against the tree trunk, listening hard, considering. He was surprised, he really was, that five minutes had elapsed so quickly and so painlessly—he wouldn't have predicted doing this well, but then, the machine wasn't moving. With this added level of difficulty, who knew how well he'd hold up?

There was, of course, precisely one way to find out.

"Alright. Do it."

The moment he said that, he moved. Hiding behind the tree to wait until the machine approached and found him would effectively trammel the li-tigon—not course, as soon as he left cover, he was fired upon, but it was of no consequence—Freak was starting to understand how to dodge bullets, he really was. Of course, he wasn't fast enough to see them coming, generally, but he was able to realize that there were little patterns, little flaws that could be exploited to his advantage.

And so, this time, Freak felt no fear as bullets followed him towards his next piece of cover—a slight overhang behind which the li-tigon ducked, for a moment, preparing an assault.

Then, though, Freak was surprised.

_"Well. I didn't know that they could move _that_ fast."_

One second, he was at least twenty yards from the machine. Trees flanked the oddity in the ground, but the area between the machine and Freak was relatively clear—perhaps that had something to do with the fact that the next second, it was _on _him.

Or perhaps the machine was just really fucking fast.

Maybe Freak hadn't heard it coming due to the fact that it had been blasting away at him with its .50-cal, so that the gun's thunderous roars drowned out the squeal of its treads, but that wasn't likely—the li-tigon's cubhood had trained him to hear a pin drop in a sandstorm. Perhaps it could move in relative silence.

Freak looked up, peeping his head out of cover. It was fortunate that he was fast, otherwise it might have been consumed in the fireball spewed by its flamethrower.

The li-tigon waited out the blast, partially—the machine had him pinned, and if he didn't react, it would move in for the kill a minute later. It was best to fool it, let it think it had him, while turning the situation into one that was advantageous for him.

With that though, even as the fireball continued to blast over his head, Freak jumped… straight up.

Now, Raj had impressed upon him how dangerous burning liquid was in that it had an annoying tendency to stick to fur. But the li-tigon moved fast enough that although he was singed _just_ a little, he wasn't harmed—better yet, the machine didn't realize that he'd jumped out of the way.

Landing behind it, Freak took a second to bat himself off, ensuring that he wasn't burning, before grinning quietly—the stupid contraption had moved forward and was clearing the crevice he'd just been hiding in with the barrel of its machinegun, panning its cameras back and forth blankly.

"Idiot," the li-tigon murmured, before using a massive paw to slowly angle the cameras… to face him, "Here I am."

A second before the machine could fire its fifty, Freak jumped back, far back, but then froze, and decided not to run. He was ten yards from his enemy, and that was close, especially for such a powerful round… but he could do this. He knew he could do this.

There were few things the li-tigon could rely on, at this range—he couldn't rely on the outside, near impossibility of seeing the high-velocity bullets, and he obviously couldn't rely on an audible warning—but what he could rely on was the accuracy of the bullets, their tendency to follow the angle of the barrel, and, of course, his own speed.

Not that that made this any less risky or flat out _crazy_…

Assuming a defensive stance that left him light on his feet, the li-tigon took a few seconds to hyperventilate and growl, psyching himself up. Feeling energy tingle through his limbs, he watched the machinegun lock on his position.

Then, it fired.

The li-tigon was thankful that, to start off, it only fired brief bursts—one or two or sometimes three rounds—understandably, the machine was confident of its ability to score a hit.

But, as the seconds wore on, it started to both circle and ramp up its rate of fire… somehow, some way, the li-tigon was _dodging_.

Ducking, contorting his form, diving, rolling, he more or less remained within a few yards of his original position—it was hard, very hard, and demanded action without thought, but the signs given off by Freak's ability to do this were good. Fighting enemies armed with automatic weapons, it seemed, was starting to become part of his muscle memory.

The machine was firing full auto, now; there were no breaks in the long, staccato blasts—it tried to approach Freak, still circling, but the li-tigon managed to back away, even as he still avoided fire.

Its barrel overheated, it gave up using the machinegun, for the moment. Freak stood, breathing hard, sweating, but completely unharmed, still dancing on his paws, ready to take whatever came next—if he could dodge the bullets of a .50 at close range, he could take whatever else the machine could throw at him.

Shaking his head, once, so that his hearing returned fully—it had been rather suppressed due to the loud explosions going off dangerously close to him—the li-tigon watched, waited, watched, waited…

Raj might have told him that his little friend didn't have just any old grenade launcher. Raj might have told him that his little friend was packing a Mk. 19.

It was a rather nasty surprise for Freak, to find out both that the machine fired into the ground and that he not only had to dodge getting hit by its grenades directly, but also had to avoid the shrapnel they produced. Only by zigzagging desperately, tail struggling to counter his rapid motion, was he able to spring off the trees, so that some grenades, at least, sailed uselessly past him to detonate off in the distance.

The machine could travel fast, sure, but it had nothing on Freak. And since Raj (presumably) wasn't controlling it, yet, the li-tigon felt that this tactic—running like a squirrel—was completely fair.

Grenades landed all around him, sometimes directly in front of and behind him, rocking leaves, plants, trees, and the entire jungle as they detonated. The li-tigon was occasionally peppered by little shreds of vegetation or the synthetic compounds the less-than-lethal rounds produced, but he sustained no serious hits.

Formulating a plan, or trying to, as he ran on, Freak took note of a few important facts. One was that the jungle was slowly changing, becoming less thick and more navigable, increasing both his and his enemy's optimal speed. The other was that the Season of the Rains had decided to throw yet another lightning storm at Hindustan.

Maybe it would last ten minutes, maybe it would last ten days; Freak didn't know, and, to keep things realistic, Raj hadn't told him the region's weather forecast. It was hardly of consequence, though—in an intense fight like this, there was no sense in creating long-term strategies or traps. Thinking more than two minutes into the future was next to pointless.

Thumb-sized drops of rain plummeted down from the sky, striking Freak hard enough to hurt, a little, but the li-tigon knew better than to let it get to him—his relentless enemy certainly wouldn't.

"Bah," the li-tigon groaned, dismayed—he'd hit a plane, and that was bad. There would be no cover for him if he continued through it, and he was starting to tire.

Skidding to a halt, Freak turned, and allowed the machine to approach. He easily outpaced it, so he had a full ten seconds to rest as it rolled towards him, giving its grenade launcher time to cool. Perhaps it was readying another salvo, or, less likely, it was out of ammo. But rather than firing on empty and telling Freak that by a series of automatic clicks and whirrs, the machine switched to its .50.

The shoulder-high grasses were cut down not just by the bullets but by the massive raindrops, even as Freak danced his way back towards the jungle. The machine moved to stop him, barring his path, but the li-tigon saw that coming and quickly changed direction, dashing past it, back towards the more protective environment.

Somewhat dismayingly, the li-tigon noted that Raj had yet to take control of his little friend. That meant that he'd really feel the lack of energy he had just now—really.

_"I need to learn to sustain high-energy activities. …I don't know how I'll do that… but I'll have to. For all I know, when I fight my twin, I could be at it for half an hour, or longer."_

The machine fired only single shots, now, only occasionally—its barrel was still cooling, and it was probably running low on ammo—it would need a lot for the final push, when Raj took control. Freak was well out of range of its flamethrower, but it fired a long, wet stream of fire regardless, desperately attempting to score at least _one_ hit…

"Tired, Scar?" said a voice, from just above Freak.

The li-tigon looked up, panting, but shook his head to Raj—he wanted to finish the exercise. He needed to know that he could.

"Well, then," the human said, cracking his knuckles, the smile on his face slowly transforming into determination, "Let's… play."

The difference was instantly noticeable. The machine no longer deployed its weapons with seconds of digital thought between them, slow recalculations hardly based in past experience—now, with Raj at the wheel, it would set up clever traps that the li-tigon nearly walked into, several times. It would fire a grenade to cut off the li-tigon's motion, then open up with its machinegun or move in with its flamethrower. When Freak took to the air, sometimes with the aid of a vine, it would wait untilh presented as large of a target as possible before opening up.

There was no mercy and no quarter given when Raj took control, but Freak wouldn't have it any other way. This exercise… it wasn't a game, but perhaps by treating it like one to a degree, the li-tigon could maximize his profits from it. That, or feline instinct, possible resulting from a cubhood devoid of play, made it simply feel good to not take things too seriously.

Maybe that's why, ten minutes later, the li-tigon was panting, exhausted, sweating, soaking wet from the rain and shivering from it, too, that he stood, proud and strong… without a scratch.

Finally, the machine died down. A second later, Freak turned, suddenly, to see Raj hop down from the tree, approaching, slowly, with his bare hands plainly visible—sure, they were friends, but an apex predator is still an apex predator, and he had, after all, just finished a twenty five minute long adrenaline rush.

Eventually, the li-tigon managed to relax, and shook some of the water out of his mane and fur, revealing that he was smiling, and widely. "How did I do?" he asked, "I don't think I was hit, except for in the beginning, with that grenade… I tried to get in some attacks of my own, and I think, if I really tried, I would have been able to take out your machine…"

"You were fantastic," Raj said, beaming, "Incredible. I didn't restrain myself at all, Scar, and even then, you dominated the battlefield. I'm confident that you'll be able to prevail, in the future… but, for now, let's focus on the here and now."

"You're great, Scar," the human said, "Truly great. Unless your twin is stronger than you, more competent with state-of-the-art weaponry than me, and as cunning and cruel as Shah," he said, referring to his brother, "You'll destroy him. Of this I am certain."

Raj then laughed, and held up his hand. Freak blinked, before remembering that Raj had told him, some time back, that that gesture was friendly, congratulatory. In response, the li-tigon raised his paw, and allowed the human to tap it—a high five, of sorts.

"You're sure I'll destroy him," the li-tigon said quietly, even as Raj continued to extol his prowess and otherwise praise him, "That's good. Very good. Because I'm not so certain…."

* * *

"This is it," Raj said, "The final test. Today, we'll see if all your training has paid off."

"Now, you know that we're using live rounds, as I've nothing else left. You're weighted, and you won't be too rough with myself or Nasher, yes? You have to run, you have to sprint, leap, dive, roll, attack targets I've set up… you have to do all that without dying or being injured so much that you can't perform your duty back in the Land of the Spirits.

"I'm not going to lie—I don't give much for your chances of success," the human said in somewhat brutal, blunt honesty, "At best, I'll give you 20, maybe 25 percent odds of finishing it. Maybe there's a 50 to 60 percent chance of us having to call it off, and then, there's a smaller chance of you being injured, or even killed."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Freak said, not grumpily, not jokingly, but rather, somewhat dismissively. _"The only way we'll know for sure is by starting."_

"I know, Scar. I'm not a cheerleader, though. I'm your trainer."

At the rough geographic center of the Sacred Mesa, all terrains the giant structure encompassed met. With two or three thousand square yards, there was desert, there were plains, forests, swamps, rocklands, and other, less definable habitats. Fighting here would be like an all-environment tour—Freak would have to constantly reassess his tactics every time he crossed from one terrain type to another, and that would happen often.

This final exam, so to speak, involved several distinct phases—an obstacle course that included travel through water, across sand, mud, through treetops and other tough structures; a lengthy series of targets, made out of hay, wood, or metal that Freak needed to destroy; a miniature army of Raj's little friends whose attacks Freak would have to evade while taking out more targets; followed by a battle with Nasher and Raj … in tandem.

In preparation for the test, Freak had taken the past two days off, relaxing, and carefully managing his diet. However, he hadn't had more than ten minutes to check the battlefield itself, and even then, Raj had only allowed him the most cursory of glances of his surroundings. The li-tigon would have to construct plans and tactics on the fly, but so would Raj—Freak had determined to, throughout the course of the fight, do things that just didn't make sense, that were certain to force the human to constantly reevaluate his strategies, just as the li-tigon would.

Today, for the first time, Raj, Freak, and Nasher had finally given up trying to tell Kochai where to stay—instead, they'd told her where _not_ to be, and impressed upon her the danger of disobeying. The tigress kitten had been told that she could go anywhere on the Sacred Mesa, provided that she wasn't visible to anyone from the ground, that she didn't get herself into trouble, and that she had to return to them at nightfall—who knew, perhaps by trusting her just a little and giving her a share of the responsibility for her safety, they'd save themselves the time and frustration generally associated with finding her.

"Everything's almost ready to go, Scar," the human said, looking beyond the li-tigon for a moment to catch Nasher's eye, who moved off into position, somewhere. Raj checked his PDA for a moment, tapping a few keys on it, then nodded, putting it away. "Now, we're really ready to go. So… whenever you want to begin…"

Freak took a minute to calm, looking around. It was cloudy, and it was drizzling, a little, but he wasn't chilled. Over time, he'd grown accustomed to the Season of the Rains, and had recently even started to enjoy the cold, somewhat. Still, though, he knew that his favorite climate would be a heated one, and that was alright, even now—soon enough, things would get _hot_.

"Alright… I'm ready."

Raj tapped a key on his PDA, so that a brief, shrill squeal echoed across the Sacred Mesa—the test had begun.

The obstacle course was first, and Freak wasted no time in sprinting to the swampy forest that formed the first part of the course. Glancing around sharply, ears perked up, the li-tigon jumped towards one tree, and, after rebounding off it, made his way through a series of branches specifically weakened to hold his weight for only seconds, at best.

He had to duck his head in order to avoid being whipped across the face by a series of thorned twigs, and that was a slight mistake. Raj had set up not a trap, but a little annoyance—by not looking straight forward, Freak hadn't seen that one of the branches set up in the course was weakened even more than all those around it so that when the li-tigon set his paw on it, it cleanly snapped in half. Freak tumbled out of the trees, somersaulted, once, and ran, quickly, across the surface of a wide pool of mud. He looked up, trying to see a way to get back on the course—there were none.

So, instead, he decided to make one.

The li-tigon jumped up, bracing himself, so that he broke directly through the treetops. Of course, that made it hard to find footing at the apex of his jump, but he managed, and, after a second, continued on.

A series of vines formed the next part of the course, and Freak wasted no time in stopping, checking things out to see how fast he'd have to move to swing from one vine to the next or even if the vines were secure—he wouldn't have such luxuries in combat.

As it turned out, the first vine was only barely attacked or tied to one of the taller trees in this swamp, and the moment Freak grabbed it, it started to slide. The li-tigon had planned for that, though, and adjusted his trajectory just a little, so that he wasn't going straight forward.

He ditched the vine completely, and jumped off one tree, then two, then grabbed the next vine in the course—this one was secure. Unfortunately, though, Freak hadn't hit it fast enough, and had to swing forward, then back, putting his body weight into the pendulum-like motion before he could transition to the next vine.

The next part of the obstacle course was a series of logs, upraised from a plain—balance beams, of sorts. Freak took them at almost full speed, jumping where they were separated, using his forepaws to drag him up when they were sudden, high gaps.

At one point, Raj opened up with his rifle—Freak knew that this was part of the obstacle course, and didn't engage the human. Rather, he merely evaded the gunfire and moved faster yet until he took away the human's angle, and the gunfire stopped.

Next was a long line of walls, some as high as twenty or even twenty five feet. Freak didn't stop moving, and dashed right up to the first, a five foot high wall and cleanly leapt over it. Rolling to his feet, he leapt over the next wall, a ten foot high structure, with a little more difficulty.

Freak had a second, now, to move across the wet, grassy plain to gain speed. Then, he jumped up, kicked off the next, fifteen foot high wall, and neatly cleared it. Taking the impact of his landing on his forepaws, the li-tigon panted, hyperventilating, before moving on.

The next three walls were all ten feet high, but spaced close to one another—Freak had to jump over one, spring off the ground without a second to spare to clear the other. It was hard, but he made it without slowing down. After that, he jumped to the top of a ten foot wall, then kicked off that to the top of a fifteen footer before hitting the ground and looking up at the behemoth structure in front of him.

This wall was at least twenty, but probably twenty five feet high. It loomed over the li-tigon, but Freak didn't slow down. He didn't both to sprint, forward momentum would do him no good. Luckily, it hadn't been raining too hard, but the wood was still quite slick, and Freak would have a hard time getting a grip on it before clearing it.

Freak had to spring off the wall, directly upwards, not once, not twice, but three times—but in the end, he managed to pull and scramble his way over the edge. Landing hard, he exhaled… before moving on.

The li-tigon hadn't made it to the target range yet, and that was concerning—he'd have to be careful to make sure he wasn't tired for the battle royale. Fortunately, though, the next series of obstacles were easily cleared, without much energy expenditure—Freak crawled, slid, and climbed his way through an impossibly thick series of trees and bushes, all the while trying to keep his precise location as hard to pinpoint as possible.

Finally, it was time to take out the targets. This stage of the test brought him closer to the center of the Sacred Mesa, so that the li-tigon would transition from one environment to the next _quickly_. His first set of targets—a group of scarecrows, essentially—were positioned at the edge of a thick jungle. As quickly as he could, Freak took them out—he tackled the first, pinning it, biting out its neck. Leaving it the second it could be considered a confirmed kill, the li-tigon used his claws on the next two, set side by side, cleanly shredding their chests and torsos. The final scarecrow was dispatched by a _powerful_ bat that knocked its head from its shoulders, leaving its body standing, for a moment, before collapsing to the ground.

Gunfire started to rattle out through the air, courtesy of Raj. Freak had to stop, for a moment, hiding behind a tree, before moving on again—too slow. The li-tigon had to dive to take cover again; the human had retargeted him with stunning speed.

_"This is bad, I need to move on _now_. I don't want to wait for him to reload; he'll just switch to a pistol, and I think he's getting closer…"_

Ranged weapons… are not the specialty of big cats. However, the li-tigon's mind drifted back, months back, to the war with the Bloody Shadows…

_"Banzai…"_

The li-tigon double checked to ensure that he was flicking a rock, not a grenade, at Raj. Then, nudging the small projectile out into the open, Freak listened, hard, before giving it a whack.

A sudden spew of swearing both coherent and incoherent to the li-tigon told him that he'd hit his mark from sound alone—good. But he had no time to dwell on his satisfaction; the second he'd struck Raj, he was on the move.

The next testing facility involved a small lake that, while shallow at its fringes, quickly dropped off—Freak had no idea how deep it was, if it even had a bottom. But the targets' distribution led him right to its center.

They were mounted on little wooden platforms that bobbed due to the wind and the Rains, and the waves that occurred naturally in such a large body of water. Splashing water everywhere, Freak hydroplaned, a little, as he dashed towards the first target.

He struck its chest, then its head, with his paws, before biting at its hip and tearing—this one was tougher; Raj had reinforced some targets with rubber and plastic meant to resemble lean, toughened flesh. Still, Freak took it down without difficulty, and instantly took to the water, swimming towards his next enemy.

Raj didn't fire much, thankfully; and the li-tigon suspected that the human was only doing so in order to make Freak remember what he was doing. Perhaps the human was only snapping off the occasional shot from his hip, or perhaps he'd drawn a pistol and was emulating his favorite movie stars by firing sideways, striking strange poses, or going one handed—who knew?

Bullets spanged off the water's surface, now and then, but Freak didn't worry about them—if Raj was really gunning for him, all shots would be landing within a few feet of each another… or less. The li-tigon made it to his next target, but didn't climb onto the platform to take it out; that would be a waste of time. Rather, with Herculean effort, he managed to capsize it with his forepaws. Then, coming up from underwater, he gutted the scarecrow with his claws, biting through its rubber spine.

Freak moved on underwater, holding his breath. Raj, or one of his little friends, was still firing sporadically, giving Freak a rather interesting view from below the surface—bullets striking the water, skimming, then bouncing off, keyholing at unexpected angles.

The next two targets were on the same platform, so Freak decided to get up onto it, this time—he probably wouldn't be able to sink it easily, anyway. The li-tigon had plenty of air left in his lungs, and that was good—perhaps the fifteen mile or more swim to the Land of the Spirits would be doable.

Freak tossed his mane, so that a long stream of water arced through the air as he broke the surface. Landing cleanly between the targets, which were both facing him, he sprang into action. Jumping into the air, the li-tigon twisted to his side, using all four sets of claws in a Desert-style multidirectional attack, he slashed their faces and necks. On their own, the targets would probably have fallen, due to that, but Freak finished one by batting out its legs and knocking it into the water with a fisted paw, and struck the other with a powerful, signature headbutt.

Continuing forward, the li-tigon dived into the lake again and swam, this time, on the surface. The next target was at the very center of the lake, but there was, of course, a twist—Freak had no idea at _all_ how Raj had done it, but, somehow, the moment he approached the platform… the lake transformed into a vast, massive whirlpool.

Powerless against the might of the water, the li-tigon flailed, hopelessly, training to maintain a linear course. He wasn't sucked down, though, so, for a minute, he was able to tread water, and try to cope with his suddenly rising dizziness—it wasn't easy. Raj didn't fire, though, and so, after a moment, the li-tigon managed to find a way to work _with_ the water.

Rather than attempting to swim in a straight line, Freak concentrated his efforts on not being thrown around hopelessly, and merely closing in on the lake's center. Keeping upright wasn't too difficult, and swimming towards the remaining platform was, after a few tries, doable.

The final target in this section of the test was dispatched with a quick, deadly combo of clawing and bats. Then, it was time to go.

Mercifully, Raj had turned off the whirlpool, somehow, so that Freak was able to swim out without contest. Once he was on the ground, though, the li-tigon wasted no time in running at near full speed towards the next set of targets.

These were set in the treetops, mostly, of a thick, muddy swamp. Freak dashed up the gnarled trunk of a moss-covered tree to make his way to the first target, before _something_ hit him.

More confused than dazed, the li-tigon stared, head tilted, at the two-by-four in front of him. Formerly more or less rectangular in shape, it now sported an indentation in it that, for some reason, looked exactly like his forehead…

"What's the matter, Scar? Combat is all about nasty surprises," Raj called from the distance, "You're not hurt, are you?" he added, after a moment.

"No, I'll be fine," the li-tigon replied.

"_Shabosh, shabosh_… I always knew you had a thick skull."

After a second of attempting, and failing, to come up with a reasonable response to that, Freak swatted the spring-loaded chunk of wood out of the way with his paw, smashing it easily. Even as splinters danced through the air, he leaped from branch to branch, making his way to the first target.

There wasn't enough space on the branch it was mounted to land on from the side, the direction Freak was approaching from. Rather, the li-tigon clotheslined it, hard, knocking it off its perch and with him, through the air. Turning his head to the side, for a moment, he dug his claws directly into where the scarecrow's eyes would be, if Raj had taken the time to draw them, or something—leave it to a human to do a half-assed manufacturing job.

The target crashed into the next branch Freak landed on, then fell to the ground. The li-tigon then noticed that when he'd withdrawn his claws from the target, they hadn't come out clean—rather, skewered on their lengths were little bits of cut-up rubber; tires, in fact. These, it seemed, were even tougher than the targets Freak had already hit.

Quickly sheathing and unsheathing his claws to clean them, the li-tigon moved to the next target. This one was suspended _under_ a branch, fifteen feet about a slick of mud, or, possibly, quicksand. Attacking it from the bottom… probably wouldn't work.

So, instead, Freak came from the side.

Daring, for a few seconds, to tread on the weaker, lower limbs of the swamp trees, the li-tigon sprang off another trunk and opened his jaws. This target was almost solid, far heavier than it would be if it was as dense as normal flesh, but Freak managed to grab it, and lift it up onto a more stable branch with his jaws.

Viciously throwing his head back, then forth, the li-tigon gripped the target with his massive paws, digging his claws deep, deep into its body—a kill, no denying it.

The li-tigon threw it aside, letting it splash into the quicksand or mud below with a wet _splat_. By the time it had hit the ground, Freak was flying through the treetops to his next target.

This time, he was prepared for the bar of wood that flung, as if out of nowhere, trying to trip him. Freak easily cleared it, but again, had to admit that, despite everything, Raj was a shrewd being. In midair, the li-tigon had no chance to dodge the second beam that was shot out from an unseen air cannon, or something, at him.

At first, Freak thought he'd only be able to block it from striking him in a sensitive spot, just below his armpit with an elbow. As it turned out, though, the li-tigon was able to deflect it with a quick tap, so that it flew over his lower back.

He landed in line with the next branch, upon which was located his target. This gave him time to gain both footing and therefore some speed—Freak slashed diagonally downwards with both sets of his front claws, shoving the target back. He finished the assault by pinning it to the tree and biting out its neck, leaving it to slump over, lifeless… er, even more lifeless than it… already.. …was…

The next engagement, it seemed, was in a harsh, gravely area. Boulders, jagged and harsh, spiked out of the ground suddenly and randomly, sharp enough to gore Freak if he were to run into one in the wrong angle. As the li-tigon approached, Raj started to open fire again, but not with his rifle.

_"I might have guessed,"_ Freak thought, glumly, pressing himself against a finger of obsidian, _"He's been going easy on me, so far."_

Fortunately, Raj wasn't being _totally_ merciless. Though he'd opened up with an automatic grenade launcher, he was only firing directly at Freak. Now, while that certainly doesn't sound merciful, consider—the li-tigon only had to find cover from a direct assault. If the human were to adjust his fire, even just a little, so as to launch his very live grenades _next_ to Freak… there we be no dodging, and no evading. There would be no test, anymore… and no li-tigon to attempt it left.

Perhaps mercy… isn't the best way to describe it.

As it was, Freak's cover was rapidly being eroded by the numerous explosions against it. Broken shards of rock danced past the li-tigon as the ground shook, reverberating with the force of the powerful barrage. The li-tigon waited, though—let Raj feel a bit of fear, he reasoned, let him think that something had gone wrong. That tactic sure beat the Hell out of jumping out of cover blindly, praying for the best.

Sure enough, within a few seconds, the attack slowed, then stopped.

That was when Freak made his move.

He didn't give Raj another chance to really bring the pain with another sustained barrage of grenades, but that was hardly relevant. Since the li-tigon was on the move, the human couldn't carefully line his shots up just so, minimizing the risk of actually threatening Freak's life.

Talk about realism.

Freak was lucky, though—no grenades landed close enough to him to do _real_ damage. Raj had elected to use concussion rounds only for the test, not more lethal fragmentation ammunition—if he had, the li-tigon would have been Swiss cheese by then, easily.

As it was, the waves of pressure that slammed into him hard enough to almost knock him off his feet, and the chips of rock that peppered his sides were powerful enough obstacles anyway. The li-tigon's face twisted into a snarl as he zigzagged, fur tousled by the explosions, making his way along a path of smell—the only one he had. Raj had mentioned, some time ago, that he'd have to find out how to do this test, at points, without direction. And now, it seemed, the only direction Freak had were the remnants of scent left behind by the human's work, when he'd set the course up.

Maybe the human had guessed that Freak would do just that—the path he'd taken, it seemed, cut directly through the toughest, most impassible part of this miniature rockland. Raj's path cut through a chasm, one riddled with sudden and extreme changes in elevation—if he wasn't having fricking grenades shot at him, the li-tigon might have stayed the course.

_"That's it,"_ Freak said, suddenly skidding to halt over the cracked, blackened gravel, before turning and suddenly running in a totally different direction, _"I won't be the only one confused and constantly in need of tactical reassessment… if I do things that don't make sense."_

Indeed, the li-tigon could almost see Raj pause, narrow his eyes, lower his weapon to wonder, for a moment, what had bitten his "student", so to speak; what had made Freak do something that didn't seem to serve any logical purpose.

A moment later, the fire started up, again, but it wasn't nearly as rapid, and the human's aim had been thrown off by the fact that Freak had come across a sudden, massive hole in the ground—great cover from the deadly little projectiles that Raj kept launching.

Throughout all this, though, Freak managed to keep his mind on his goals—find the targets. His tactic had worked, in the short term; he wasn't playing by Raj's game… one that, he knew, would end up giving the human a perfect shot, trapping Freak in between a rock and a hard place, forcing him to accept defeat. Now, though… well, he certainly couldn't comb every inch of this rockland, not while evading a practically endless supply of grenades from Raj. That was sinfully inefficient, and wouldn't teach him how to fight his twin at _all_. No, Freak needed to find his targets _fast_.

The only solutions, then, were to use both his nose, and his brain.

Again, the li-tigon changed direction, adjusting his course to be one that would take him to a relative high ground, a collection of smashed bits of rock. Darting across it, he had seconds, at best, to get the lay of the land—no more.

It would have to do.

Cross referencing the human's current position—which was, at best, a presumption, an educated guestimate, no more—and therefore the line of fire he had with the trail of scent he'd picked up, the depressions and structures he'd just gotten a glimpse of, and experience with Raj, and his little quirks and oddities… Freak came up with a few possibilities of where to search for his objectives.

And he also knew that they would all, somehow, be trapped.

No more innocent two-by-fours—this time, the defense Raj had set up around at least one of his targets was a practical claymore—a directional mine. Freak hadn't seen it, it was well camouflaged and he was going _way_ too fast to notice—but the li-tigon had heard it. That soft, slight click of a safety catch being thrown, and the almost infinitesimal bit of resistance on his footpaw as it caught an unseen monofilament—

He had _just_ enough time to jump, and high. There was no better option, the li-tigon had no way of telling what direction the explosion would come from. For that matter, he had no idea of what sort of trap Raj had set—it just seemed unlikely that the human would have created a trap effective from the bottom only, when Freak might have set it off from any direction.

So, fortunately, the flood of splintered wood (in favor of metal ball-bearings and scrap), flame, and pressure that otherwise would have sliced up, roasted, then pulverized Freak went cleanly under the li-tigon.

Of course, the fifteen foot drop into a landscape that wasn't all that of a far cry from broken glass wasn't enjoyable… but still. It beat the alternative.

And the trap told Freak that the target was near, probably. Raj didn't have the time, patience, lack of regard for innocent life, or resources to set up traps randomly all over the testing facility… probably.

The li-tigon jumped into a small depression—ten feet deep, and twenty feet in diameter. Its walls were jagged and deadly—brushing against them would doubtlessly result in any number of lacerations and resulting infections… let alone being thrown into them.

The land was gray, dark gray—gunmetal, even, like the numerous tools Raj used, or the li-tigon's eyes. The rain had let up in favor of mist, perhaps fledgling fog. Visibility was low, and that was good for Freak—hopefully, Raj wouldn't fire as much, practically blinded at this range by the conditions. Unless… he had thermal imaging, somehow.

Thankfully, Freak underwent no attacks by the human. Instead, out of a serious of wide slats cut into the rock walls flung little, sharp, star-like pieces of metal at Freak from all directions at varying speeds. He could easy have jumped and avoided most if not all of them… but that was no challenge.

Unlike dodging gunfire, dodging these slower projectiles was—not easier—but more about reacting. To evade bullets, Freak had to watch the angle of a firearm's barrel, and, taking into account wind and the gunman's velocity, project what he'd have to do to avoid being shot. With these, though, he could actually see little glints of steel in the air, shining against the black background—easily visible.

The problem was that there were so damn many of the projectiles, and that they were coming from all directions.

By ducking and sidestepping, and spinning this way and that, the li-tigon managed evade… _most_ of the sharpened metal shards. The volley ended, though, as quickly as it had began, so, grimacing, somewhat, Freak took a second to brush the stars from his mane… and pick a few out of his upper foreleg.

It was then that he noticed that, sometime during the course of the fight, the target had revealed itself. One of the slats in the wall hadn't thrown out projectiles… but, rather, a scarecrow.

This one was only made of hay, allowing Freak to practically bisect it with a single swipe.

Then, it was time to move on.

He hopped out of the cylindrical hole with ease, and braced himself, preparing to dodge gunfire and grenades—but none came.

Running along, moving towards the next possible target area, Freak had to wonder—what was Raj planning, what was he up to? By this stage of the test, the li-tigon knew that his examiner, so to speak, wasn't going to let him have many more freebies.

The answer to Freak's question came in the form of not one but _four_ pop-up turrets—these weren't part of the miniature army Freak would have to face soon; they didn't move. But their flamethrowers and submachineguns were completely functional.

However, by diving to the side, behind cover, and moving sporadically, unpredictably, the li-tigon was able to evade their attacks. It wasted time, though, so once he'd circled around, outside of their maximum effective range, Freak double-timed it to the next possible target area.

This one was concealed from most angles by a series of hills, formed of loose gravel—Freak had to scramble to get over them, but once he did, the target was in plain sight. There were no traps, too—because it was made of metal, and filled with mud.

Freak wouldn't be able to manhandle it, as he'd been able to with the other targets. Biting or clawing it would also be dangerous, due to its tough exterior—so the only remaining options were clear.

The li-tigon stock to his paws—he struck the target's head, hard, over and over. Quickly, he brought it to the ground, but didn't end the assault. Freak kept striking, faster and faster, until, finally, he took its head off—a confirmed kill.

The next target would be as tough as this or worse, Freak was sure, but he'd come to understand potential weak points of such a design. And, while running to the remaining likely target area, he had time to formulate a plan of attack.

The li-tigon was sure, though, to keep plenty of attention on the here and now, and that paid off well. Raj's defense for this trap was a spring-loaded series of flamethrowers that popped up from the ground, only twenty feet in front of Freak—they gave him _no_ time to get out of the way or take cover before spraying flaming gasoline at the li-tigon.

If you were to look at the scene from behind the flamethrowers, you would have seen only a giant, bright orange fireball consume the landscape, and, presumably, Freak. Temperatures would quickly rise, making you sweat and tug at your collar, before the li-tigon either bounded over, past, or _through_ you.

_"Heat is transferred slowly, by some mediums…"_

_"Like fur…"_

He'd seen the flames coming, and hadn't slowed down—he'd done the opposite, and sprinted before jumping, clearing the flames before they had a chance to burn him.

Landing, Freak didn't bother to bat himself off—such precautions were unnecessary in the heat of combat. Raj had opened fire with a machinegun, so a long trail of small explosions of hot lead and rock trailed Freak until he dived behind cover.

And there it was, another twenty yards away—the final target. It was in the open, though, and Freak could see that it had been bolted down to the ground with screws as fat as his thumb.

Bouncing on his paws, the li-tigon knew that Raj had stopped firing not to chance a magazine or barrel, but to wait until he showed himself. This was… a sensitive position—there was _no_ way he could get to the target and take it out, or bring it behind cover, without exposing himself to gunfire. And since Raj was a good five hundred yards away, he was out of range of any rocks Freak could chuck at him, if suitable projectiles existed here… and, if Raj hadn't learned and would shoot it out of the air.

"His gunfire," Freak said suddenly, "That's the solution."

Without another thought, or wasting another second, the li-tigon rushed out of cover, too fast for Raj to track. The miniature explosions chased him, though, but Freak kept running, on and on, right past his target...

An explosion of sparks and mud told Freak that his trick had worked. Behind cover again, the li-tigon turned, and smiled, for just a heartbeat, at the target… neatly cut in two by Raj's reckless gunfire—perfect.

The question now, though, was whether there were more targets to be had, or if the time had come to face Raj's army.

And the answer came in the form of an explosion of gunfire from a nearby treeline.

Freak ducked, a little, so that the rock behind which he'd taken cover cracked, exploding from the powerful slug that struck it. They began to emerge from the forest, one at a time—some were small and fast and light, armed with a single weapon. Others were tanks, sporting multiple weapons and even multiple turrets, capable of some planning and forethought. All in all, there were a dozen of them… and the li-tigon would have to take them all down with enough energy left to fight Nasher, and Raj.

But he could do it… maybe.

There was only one way to find out, though, and the li-tigon refused to ignore the challenge posed by the posture the machines struck, waiting, watching for him to answer.

As machineguns began to roar, Freak charged. He didn't have a plan, but he did have the mind, muscle, and will to pass this test.

* * *

Surprisingly enough, Freak hadn't been shot.

His mane might be singed from too many close calls with flamethrowers, and he might have a few bruises, here and there, and more than a few cuts from shrapnel, but no bullets had tasted his flesh.

The li-tigon stood, now, among broken mechanical and digital parts, belts of ammunition and the weapons that fired them under his feet. Cleanly snapping the turret off Raj's last little friend, Freak allowed himself to calm, for a moment.

_"Only one part left… Now, I have to take Nasher and Raj at the same time."_

No need to give them a stationary target.

Freak vanished deeper into the forest where the massacre had taken place, and spent a few seconds taking deep cover—now, he wouldn't be noticed unless his opponents were very observant indeed, or Raj implemented a piece of technology far beyond Freak's comprehension.

A quick check of himself told Freak a few things.

One was that although he was slightly injured, his overall fighting ability wouldn't be affected.

Another was that, despite the nearly full day of combat, he'd remained surprisingly calm and collected—his mind wasn't jittery or paranoid, no in the slightest.

The other was that he was dangerously low on energy, and no matter how calm he was, if he faced Nasher and Raj now, there was no chance that he'd win. None.

_"It's been a while since I've really hidden,"_ Freak thought, _"But before my first year passed, I beat a venomous python in a battle of stealth and ambush. By now… surely, by now, I can hide from Nasher and Raj long enough to regain some energy. Enough to beat them."_

_"After fifteen minutes, they'll think that I'm too injured to respond to their calls,"_ Freak thought, _"By the half hour mark, they'll be searching in total desperation. And, one hour from now, they'll be demoralized, angry, confused… and I'll be rested enough to take them."_

"So now, I'll rest," the li-tigon murmured, taking even deeper cover yet, "For just an hour. Then, when I wake… I hope they're ready."

"I say, you don't really think he died, do you?"

"I hope not, Uncle, but who can tell? Why else would he refuse to show himself for so long—two hours?"

"I'm not sure that it's been that long, Raj. You're right, but still…" Nasher clicked his tongue, peering, untrustingly, into the forest, "It would be just like my silent great-nephew to intentionally do this to us. How many times have we been through the forest, now?... what are the odds that we've missed him; he's not a kitten."

"You're right, too," Raj said, "And I'm now certain that all my machines are destroyed. But let's think, for a moment… supposing, he's not injured and he's not setting a trap. That means—"

"Someone else is playing a role," Nasher finished.

The chilling silence was hardly perturbed by the soft, fearful sounds of the tiger and human getting back to back, ready to fight. Raj raised a set of binoculars, checking the perimeter of the forest… stealth to a degree that he'd be able to sneak up like this was _not_ Shah's forte, but Raj knew better than to underestimate his twin brother.

"Forget about Scar. We have to find Kochai," Nasher said in a steely voice, "My relative can take care of himself, but my daughter—she's still a kitten. And I have so much to do with her yet, before she's too old or I'm dead."

The tiger's voice cracked, a little, and Raj understood the legitimacy of the urgency in it. Ever since that day, when they'd shared a little… heart-to-heart in the forest, Kochai and her father had grown closer than anyone could have expected—and yet, Nasher was right. There was so much left for father and daughter to enjoy together—he couldn't play a role in denying such a relationship, even indirectly.

Slowly, Raj nodded.

"You're right. Dusk is coming soon, so, she should be nearby, or approaching," he murmured, _"Maybe we'll have more luck with her than we have with Scar."_

Nasher nodded, still looking around, completely alert for anything.

"Alright, boy… we can't split up, we're stronger together. But we need to cover as much ground as possible as quickly as we can, so we'll move within eyesight of one another, and that's all—let's set a few things straight, right now," he said in a steely voice, "If one of us goes down, the other leaves him and _finds_ Kochai, and takes her to safety. And if Kochai goes down… well, boy, you've got a life in front of you. As for me… don't bother trying to hold me back, or stopping me."

Raj nodded, slightly—of course, Nasher couldn't see it, but acted as if the human had agreed.

"Also… despite everything, boy, I'm grateful for your friendship, and your advice. Both things have been very rare for me, in this life… so, while I have a chance, let me make sure that I can say this: thank you."

A smile touched the human's thin lips—it wasn't wide or overt, but it was heartfelt.

"You're very welcome, Uncle. Now…" he whispered, crouching, a little, tightening his grip on his shortened G3, "Let's move, on my go…"

"One…" Raj said.

"Two…" Nasher said, as the human took a shot of almost pure caffeine and sugar (read: an energy drink).

"Three…"

The human and the tiger paused, then turned, slowly looking at one another.

"Did you—"

"No. No, I didn't," Nasher said, blinking, utterly confused, "It sounded like it came from you, though. Have you got something caught in your throat? Maybe it _was_ you who said it, perhaps that ganja drink of yours affected it."

"I don't think so," Raj said, examining his can, "It's only sugar, caffeine, water, and artificial flavors, that's all," the human said.

Nasher looked skeptical, so, sighing, he added, "And… some other things, which I cannot pronounce."

"But wait," the tiger said suddenly, "That's an accelerant. So, if anything, your voice would have been higher. I say—"

"Yes," Raj said, twitching, throwing his can down to the ground, stepping on it, sneering… before pausing, picking it up and putting it into his pocket for later eco-friendly disposal like any good Planeteer, "He's here."

"You mean—"

"Yep," Raj said shortly, "He heard everything you said."

Nasher twitched.

"Well then," he said, clearing his throat, "Let it be known that I wasn't actually being very serious at all; I was merely saying it to comfort you, boy—"

"You're only digging yourself a deeper grave, Uncle."

Nasher twitched again, but fell silent.

"So, you _are_ grateful for his advice…"

The voice came, somehow, from directly _above_ Nasher and Raj. The two turned, instantly, just in time to watch Freak land, daintily, and _quietly_, ten or so feet away from them, lips quivering.

"I'm sorry. I should have attacked before then, but it was so precious—I couldn't resist, I really couldn't."

"…So!" Raj said suddenly, loudly, seeing that Nasher was glaring daggers at the li-tigon, who was still barely concealing laughter, "Shall we?"

"Of course," Freak said, "Let's—"

No one would ever know for sure—not even the tiger himself—if Nasher had attacked in well-feigned or real anger. The roar he gave as he attempted to pounce on Freak was incredibly realistic, if it was fake… but, if it was real, he was _pissed_.

Freak dodged to the side, rolling, and took cover behind a tree just as Raj opened fire, backing up his teammate. The li-tigon barely had a moment to wait alongside the moss-covered tree before Nasher ripped through a series of vines, skidded to a halt, and ran towards Freak again.

This time, though, the tiger didn't go for a simple tackle—he reared up, yes, so Freak did as well in response. The cats shared a long series of strikes—Nasher's furious, fast assault kept Freak on his toes, and on the retreat, for the moment. The li-tigon parried most of the tiger's blows, dodging a few, and blocking the remainder. Once or twice, he spotted opportunities to drop Nasher with a bat or headbutt, and once or twice, he could have locked the tiger's forelegs and taken the fight to the ground—but, Freak found, he was in the mood for a challenge.

The positive part of fighting so furiously with Nasher, moving so quickly, changing direction and his position relative to the tiger was that Raj couldn't shoot—he never had a clear line of fire to Freak for more than half a second, and even then, opening fire would have placed Nasher in grave danger anyway. I suppose that we can only hope that Kifo wouldn't be so unwilling to sacrifice an ally, in a blind rage to kill his twin…

Quickly, though, Raj grew tired of trying to line up a perfect shot. He fired off a few rounds, not necessarily aiming at Freak, but aiming as close to the fray as he dared. This served, though, only to agitate the two combatants and increase the veracity of their fight.

The li-tigon still showed combat restraint, even as Nasher landed one, then two strikes that trailed long, jagged bloody lines through his ruff and mane. Continuing to allow himself to be forced back, so that Raj had to constantly reposition himself, only occasionally able to fire off a shot, Freak kept careful track of where Nasher was guiding him, pushing him—it was a trap, he was certain.

Looking deliberately into the tiger's eyes, using only his peripheral vision to thwart Raj's efforts to get a clean shot on him, the li-tigon would have exactly a millisecond to react before whatever trap he was being led into was sprung.

After blocking a series of quick jabs, Freak saw that telltale flash in Nasher's eyes, and felt his foot give way, a little—jumping back, far, the li-tigon cleared a pit, deep one, that Nasher very much stumbled into.

When Freak hit the ground, he turned and ran—but not away from his combatants. Nasher had started to round a pit, recovering from the surprise of Freak's jump well, but not from meeting the li-tigon again far before he'd expected.

This time, Freak was on the attack—Nasher didn't have a chance. Of course, the li-tigon was careful to not injure his great uncle, but still—within a few seconds, Freak's initial tackle, and the cleverly-placed bats that followed placed Nasher in a position ripe for a grappling maneuver that could pin him into submission, or, potential, a bite to the neck. Unfortunately, though, Freak was forced to give his attack up prematurely: Raj was almost in a position to fire.

Calculating, quickly, the li-tigon decided that the human would be able to snap off a shot before he could get to him. Leaving Nasher on the ground, belly up, Freak jumped up into the treetops. Though angry gunfire chased him, courtesy of Raj, he wasn't too worried—even for a skilled shooter like Raj, tracking a rapidly moving cat through the trees… was hard.

Freak had to give Nasher credit, though—before ten seconds had passed, the tiger was not only back on his feet, but up in the trees, hot on Freak's tail, and that was bad. If Nasher so much as slowed Freak down, much less managed to take the fight out of the trees and back to the ground, Raj would have a confirmed kill without even needing to pull the trigger.

Unacceptable.

Before the tiger could realize that or implement it, Freak had stopped, and jumped, twisting, turning around in midair. He managed to kill his momentum by landing on a tree, so, for a second, held himself there so as to not change his momentum _too_ quickly—before launching himself at Nasher.

His intention wasn't to engage the tiger again—rather, he meant to either knock him out of the tree, or just get him out of the way. Freak needed time to think of a way to take on Raj—at least a few seconds.

He ended up making Nasher dodge to the side, and that put the tiger out of the game for maybe five seconds. Nasher had to turn and catch up to Freak again, but by the time that happened, the li-tigon had an idea in mind.

Raj was reloading, then, snapping home a drum magazine for his G3. He fumbled, though, and almost dropped it, and rushed to click it in place. Then, though, the human looked up, and threw aside his rifle. The human's sidearm was a Skorpion machinepistol, a nasty little gun that fired smaller rounds at a rapid rate—it wouldn't be likely to kill Freak, but the li-tigon would certainly feel getting shot by it.

Freak's intention was to take Raj out _fast_, before he could be double-teamed. Dropping down from the trees, the li-tigon sprinted towards the human, whose pistol had just cleared leather. Raj raised his weapon, just as Freak leapt into the air.

It was _close_, and if the li-tigon had been a millisecond slower, even at this range, he would have been seriously injured, or very possibly even killed by the flurry of .32 ACP rounds that would have been blasted into him. Freak took the human down, wrapping his forelegs around Raj's arms, so that although the Skorpion went off, its bullets smattered uselessly into the ground.

Even though the trauma of being tackled by a feline weighing well over five hundred pounds dazed Raj, he recovered well before hitting the ground. His upper arms were pinned, and there was nothing he could do about it. However, his belt was laden with weapons—using his right hand to keep a grip on the li-tigon's mane, so he wouldn't be tossed aside, he went for a long, curved dagger with his left. It didn't even clear the sheath, though. Freak slid down and gripped the human around his forearms, locking him up entirely—if Raj had had a few more seconds, he might have been able to do something, but, just as they hit the ground, the li-tigon had opened his jaws and pointedly held them only inches away from Raj's neck.

A kill.

Before Raj could say or word, or even totally recover from being tackled to the ground, though, Freak was gone. Nasher bounded over the human, a moment later, chasing the retreating li-tigon into a clearing.

Freak turned, in a dime, so the tiger stopped. Circling, the two cats snarled at each another—surprisingly seriously, for just a test, as Raj started to stand. Though Freak had "killed" him well and truly, his twin would be a _lot_ tougher. A few more good kills on Raj would finish the fight, but, before that, the li-tigon had to "kill" Nasher.

This wasn't good. Freak knew that if he and his great-uncle got into another close-quarters brawl, this time, Raj wouldn't hesitate to open fire.

But… it was his only option. If the li-tigon didn't make it prohibitively costly for Raj to fire upon him and Nasher, the human would just find an angle, eventually, and exploit it. It looked like Freak's only choice was to take Nasher down in one furious push, and then turn his attention to Raj, and keep it there.

As the li-tigon ran forward, Nasher danced away, glancing towards Raj. The human quickly tried to circle, raising his freshly loaded rifle, ready to spray—

Too late, Freak was too fast. Before Raj could flick his rifle up, the li-tigon was on Nasher. He tackled the tiger cleanly out of view behind a tree, so that the human had to swear and get up and run to get a view of the yowling, vicious sounds of combat coming from the thick forest.

But before Raj could get an angle, Freak dragged Nasher out of view again. It was obvious that the tiger was losing the fight, and badly, but Freak had apparently not gotten in a "kill" yet. Raj rushed forward, rifle-half raised—he didn't dare fire at the brawl while moving.

Freak got behind another clump of trees, and this time, when Raj caught up, he found Nasher.

The tiger was panting, exhausted, and seemed to only barely keep his feet. He looked up at Raj, apologetically, and said, "Boy… you might want to look behind you…"

The human looked to the side with his eyes, only, not his head. With his peripheral vision, he caught a flash of tan-orange, and leaped to the side. Feeling Freak's massive paw bat his elbow, hyper-extending it, slightly, he slid across the ground as he fired rapidly.

Casings bounced around just next to Raj's head, as bullets cut through the forest canopy, rocketing into the sky. Branches and twigs were snapped, cut down, by the volley, but the human hadn't taken the time to aim. His spray hadn't touched Freak.

Standing up, the human crouched, a little, and this time took a second to aim before firing rapid but short bursts at the li-tigon's form. Freak was sprinting, circling Raj, and both fighters knew it was only a matter of time before they closed.

Unfortunately for Raj, his drum magazine was already running out. He thought he'd gotten in a hit—a slight explosion of blood was followed by a slight misstep or stumble on Freak's part, but the li-tigon had taken cover, again. Raj knew better than to reload, even as he circled around, rifle at low-ready, moving in for the kill. A quick mental calculation said that there were at best a dozen rounds left at the ready, so after that, he'd be back to his sidearms, blades… or bare hands.

Indeed, there was a puddle on the ground where Freak had been, a moment ago—but the li-tigon was gone. And a soft click off to Raj's three o'clock told him where his opponent had gone…

The human didn't even bother to fire, this time. He just turned his head, quickly, and saw the blur of Freak approaching, already in the air. Raj ducked, explosively, and swung his rifle, swinging its stock, hard. The dull thud that reverberated through the G3 shook it from his grip, but also left an indent in Freak's fur, hopefully throwing the li-tigon off, if only a little.

Freak flew over Raj, and the human took advantage of that. Getting a two knives out, holding one in an ice-pick grip and the other in a normal fighter's, he tried to slash at the li-tigon's underbelly—no luck.

Impressively, Freak managed to grab the ground with his claws, swinging himself around, stopping his jump prematurely. Raj wasn't prepared for that, and tried to get his blades back into play. Freak could have tackled the human, disarming him, and then proceeded to "kill" him over and over and over, passing the test.

This wasn't to be, though—the li-tigon paused, for just a second, and that gave Raj time to move in. The human relied on slashes, mostly, but now and then followed up deep, lunging stabs with backhand slices. Freak dodged and parried everything, though, moving as fast as the human was, twice over.

Quickly, Raj grew desperate. On his next attack, he threw his right-hand knife. Freak's eyes widened, and he quickly brought up a paw in his defense—the blade penetrated it, completely, its clipped point visible on the other end. The li-tigon winced, and, after a second of hesitation, dared use his foreleg. Hopefully, the blade had gone in line with his tissue, and wasn't tearing it apart already.

Raj was now using a pistol in his left hand and knife in his right. The human tried to draw a bead, but Freak disarmed him with a single, deft paw-strike. Hissing in pain, Raj backed away, quickly, from the li-tigon's malicious, stalking advance, raising his knife threateningly.

Freak watched the blade, for a moment, as if afraid. Then, though, Raj's back hit a tree, and the li-tigon reared up, bracing the human's wrist against the tree with a foreleg.

Teeth bared, snarling at the human, staring at him from only inches away, Freak was a rather terrifying sight. For a moment, Raj really did fear for his life, and didn't dare move a muscle. Then, though, he heard Freak growl and dive towards his neck, and closed his eyes—

"I win," the li-tigon said, dropping down to all fours again, looking up to Raj, "Right? I could have taken your neck out, there, and I was ready to claw your face, or your chest, or anything. I don't think there was anything you could have done… but if you want to continue…"

"No, nononononno," Raj said, barely stopping himself from collapsing to his knees, "You beat me, fair and square. I don't dispute it."

Freak grinned, a little, and, panting, nodded, sitting down slowly, and a bit painfully. "Heh… alright, Raj."

Exhausted, the li-tigon looked, a bit sardonically, at the knife stuck to the hilt in his foreleg. Opening his mouth, he leaned in and gingerly grabbed it, very carefully tugging

"Wait, wait…" Raj said, walking over, "Let me help you with that…"

Freak was only took glad to hold his foreleg out and watch, without gritting his teeth or even reacting as the human gripped his knife, tightly, and cleanly yanked it out. Taking a moment to examine the gaping wound, asking Freak to flex his fingers and wrist, Raj eventually nodded.

"You'll be fine, Scar. As for your other injuries—ah, that's right. I shot you, right? In the leg, wasn't it?"

The li-tigon chose to ignore the somewhat hopeful tone in the human's voice, and, rolling his eyes, nodded.

"I think so. The right leg…"

Slowly, Freak rolled over. Now, he was starting to feel his injuries, as the adrenaline from the day of fighting slowly wore off. Indeed, Raj had shot him exactly once, but, as the human reported, it was only a superficial wound and the bullet had gone through him completely.

"I estimate that you'll be yourself again, within a week or so," Raj said, sitting down at the base of a tree. Resting, for a moment, head hung, the human laughed, once, as Nasher approached.

"Even though I watched it happen, I've no clue how you managed this. Now that I'm looking at you so closely, I can see that you were hurt, a lot… but despite your injuries," Raj said, looking through Freak's blood-matted fur for left over shrapnel, "You prevailed."

Freak was about to reply before he turned, suddenly, at the sound of Kochai's voice. Nasher stood up, calling for his daughter with a roar, before sitting back down and looking at the sky.

It was dusk, Freak noted, and that probably had some bearing on why he'd won. In the lack of light, Raj wouldn't be able to see or aim as well. Waiting and taking a nap really was a good tactic, upon reflection.

Kochai was approaching, quickly, and bounded over Freak, then past Raj to jump on her father, nuzzling him happily. Nasher was legitimately pushed back by his daughter, for once, and griped, for a moment, about how he was tired and in need of more _gentle_ affection. The tigress apologized, and immediately busied herself by softly kneading the bruises and cuts engendered from his encounter of the Freaky kind.

"So," the li-tigon said, eventually, looking at Kochai, "…What have you been doing, all day?"

"First, I took a nap," the tigress said, resting on her father's side, thinking, blue-green eyes skyward, "And then… I explored the jungle, a little, and then, I took a nap. After that, I caught a small mouse for lunch, and took a nap… it was a very fun day, but I like being around you and Raj and Father more. I get to nap more that way."

Raj laughed, once, before the cats looked at him strangely, wondering what was so funny—Kochai's desires were legitimate, as far as they could see. Things fell silent, slowly, as the four rested. Nasher, Raj, and Freak were hungry, but food could wait. For now, they'd enjoy the little slice of Heaven they'd found, here, on top of the Sacred Mesa, with each another…

While they could.

* * *

(Next chapter will be My Name, expect it between now and when I die or get tired of or forget about writing. Until then, this is the Lion Sheikh of fanfiction, reminding you to disgorge your eggplant before grilling it… see you next chapter.)


	22. Exile VIII: Raj’s Gift

The Lion King: The Freak

Chapter 22: Exile VIII: Raj's Gift

* * *

(This is not going to be a giant chapter. If you've been keeping up, you can deal with the violence below, and the limited use of foul language, as well. Now, on with the story!)

* * *

He was growing increasingly nervous by the day. And though all those around him realized it, they voiced few of their concerns.

The signs, however, were difficult to mistake. Nowadays, Raj wouldn't go unarmed for a _moment_, and spent a great deal of time and effort keeping track of where exactly Freak, Kochai, and Nasher were every minute of every hour of every day. The human also indulged in obsessive, repetitive activities, now and then—cleaning weapons that were already gleaming and polished, unloading and then reloading magazines, doing pushups and situps and crunches to keep fit.

Still, though—perhaps it was due to the gradual end of the Season of the Rains. Perhaps it was due to one or a few other of the nearly innumerable factors that affected life on the Sacred Mesa that caused these little oddities in Raj.

So, for the moment, Freak and Nasher decided to keep their unspoken fears just that—unspoken fears.

Things changed, however, one day, when Raj was looking down into a campfire, flicking around a balisong knife, brooding, preoccupied, as he often was these days.

"I think," the human said in a tone that was more gravely and solemn than it had been just a week before, when Freak had passed his final test with flying colors, "we need to really prepare for your return, Scar."

The li-tigon nodded; it was a reasonable sentiment. He said nothing, though, and allowed Raj to continue speaking. Perhaps unfairly, Freak expected more than silence and monosyllabic answers from the human-such conduct was _his_ style, but Raj's?

Still, though, after a moment passed, the boy said nothing. Deep brown eyes glimmering from the reflections of the dancing flames before him, he sat, still, silently—clearly, there were things on his mind that he wasn't speaking about.

"Exactly… what do you mean, Raj, my dear boy?" Nasher prompted, smiling less than convincingly; he knew something was wrong.

Freak took note of the word "dear"—it was an honorific rarely heard from Nasher's mouth. Clearly, the li-tigon and his great uncle shared similar suspicions.

"Nothing much," the human said blandly, before continuing, as if reluctantly. "Just… a dry run to the Ganges… it may be wise. Also…" Raj said, before standing up, and shoving his rifle out of the way rather than unslinging it, "you should commit this symbol to memory."

With the point of a knife, the human started to etch something into the ground. Freak and Nasher glanced at each another, rose, and peered over Raj's shoulders as he sat back, checking to make sure he'd gotten it right.

"What does it mean?" Nasher asked after a moment. "Is it a signal, of some sort? Does it have some hokey spiritual significance?"

Making light of the situation wasn't working. Raj was as sullen as ever. Though, he did answer.

"It is the logo of a certain company. This company does many things—you only need to worry about one of its functions, though. It ships produce from here, Hindustan, to the rest of the world. To do so, it may get as close as fifteen miles to—"

"The Land of the Spirits," Freak finished. _"I guessed as much."_ Out loud, though, the li-tigon questioned in a tone that suggested he wasn't sure he actually wanted to hear the answer, "But Raj… why are you asking me to memorize it? After all, you'll be with until I'm on the boat. Every step of the way… that's the wording you used. Have things changed?"

Diplomatic wording subtly encouraged the human to divulge whatever he was concealing. Smiling, lopsided, though, Raj saw through the tactic, and shook his head.

"No. Not at all," he scoffed, "not at all…"

A moment passed. Wisely, Freak didn't press his trainer, his friend, and, instead, rested at the human's side, genuinely enjoying the company and proximity of another being, for once. Eyes shut, the li-tigon stoically waited, knowing that soon, Raj's older, more familiar personality would return. He wasn't disappointed.

"Well…" the human murmured, eventually, in a tone so soft that it was almost drowned out by the soft crackles of the nearby fire, "I have… some reason…. Rumors, really—nothing verifiable… that my beloved brother is intent on reclaiming you."

Freak felt a finger gently, purposefully tap him on the nose, and opened his eyes, considering.

"Shah, eh…"

Raj nodded, solemnly, before looking back into the fire. And though he was around three great friends, the human felt, and looked, incredibly lonely.

"Raj and Shah," Freak said, "they mean the same thing, don't they?... it makes sense. For your parents to name their twin boys like that. You never told us," the li-tigon said delicately, softly, "what… drove you and him apart. You look alike, and you're both deadly in a fight… what made you so good?" Freak asked. "And what made him… so bad?"

"Not just nature, Scar," Raj answered after another moment, resting a hand on the li-tigon's largish feline head, "Nurture.

"You see…." The human paused, taking in a deep breath, closing his eyes as if something was causing him great pain. "I… was not born in the best of health. Throughout my childhood—until very, very recently, in fact… I've been plagued with every injury, every disease… it's not just a medical condition, I'm certain. I'm cursed with bad luck—or, rather… I was.

"My religious preferences—and other things," Raj said, "differ from those of my parents, my family, my village… and, of course, my brother. You see, he's their pride and joy.

"They never really treated me properly, in hindsight," the boy shrugged, tugging, absently, at a loose clump of grass, "I often got the feeling that they wanted me gone; they wanted the inconvenience and embarrassment I posed to them eliminated. My grandfather was the worst—he was a big hunter, all about killing things—you know the type. Endlessly, he tried to toughen me up. I don't want to say how…

"What's important," Raj said, "is you, Scar. And you, Nasher, and Asal…and, of course, Kochai, and the Dark One. I'm not so very different from any of you," he explained, "I'm different, not just in appearance, but in my _soul_. I'm an outsider, and I've spent most of my life trying to change that before giving up and accepting it… and, now, _embracing_ it.

"Asal, in fact, was the first sentient being _ever_ to show me kindness. To this day, I'm not sure why—and you won't get the details of how we met, before you ask," Raj said, suddenly smiling, grinning at the hopeful expressions on Freak's, Nasher's, and now, Kochai's face.

"But, as I was saying," he continued, "Around you three, I feel… much, _much_ better. Ah, I'm sorry for being so moody over the past few days," Raj sighed, "but a number of things are concerning me. The end of the Season of the Rains means that Shah's gang's activity will be up, but that's not all—police, military, rival gangs… within another two weeks, they'll be swarming all over this land. By that time, Scar, you'll be gone. You'll have to be.

"That sounds reasonable," the li-tigon said. "So… when will we make the practice run to the Ganges?"

"There's no time like the present," the human said coolly, looking back into the flames. "We'll leave tonight."

(If ya'll guessed who Raj's grandfather is/was… kudos to ya'll.)

* * *

"I don't see why you've had so much trouble exterminating him. He's just one being, after all, and your land is a thousand times as hostile and violent to him as mine."

"I couldn't have foreseen any of it. He's good—he adapts quickly, and is far, _far_ more resilient than I could ever have expected. And don't be so condescending, my friend. After all, I don't have to do this favor for you."

This was their second meeting, and it had been called hastily, after the one that had spoken first heard of his friend's astounding failure to kill Freak. They were in the same darkened room as before, but this time, there was no table. No smokes. No luxuries at all. In fact, the tone of the meeting was confrontational—even hostile.

"Apologies," the first one murmured, harshly. "But it's absolutely _vital_ that you kill him, and soon—I believe he's going to come back, somehow. I don't know how… but we can't underestimate him anymore."

"'We,' eh…"

The second one grinned, humorlessly. He then fell silent, mulling things over.

"…Alright. I've armed a certain group that has good reason to hate him, and his little human friend. He'll be overwhelmingly outgunned—chances of him surviving are slim."

"Slim."

"Yes. You should know this better than I do—with a being like this, there are no certainties."

"What happens if he does survive, then?"

"Then he will be completely your problem, and none of mine. Hard times for our cause are ahead—I can't spend so much time, effort, and assets on this one little being. It's just not good business."

"Good business, eh…"

"That's right."

A sigh was heard.

"You know, my friend… the reason our side rarely wins is because we're so Goddamned… self-serving, and shortsighted. We have no camaraderie, and we are, essentially, cowards. But I'm not willing to call it quits and go into hiding—not yet, and not ever. This time," he growled, "I'm going all out. Regardless of whether you take care of him or not."

"Then I wish you not luck… but sense."

The meeting was over; they both vanished seconds later. Nothing more needed to be said—if Freak was eliminated, he was eliminated. If he wasn't, he wasn't. Friendship is a fragile, fragile thing—but even more so if your end goal is complete, total, nonnegotiable world domination.

* * *

It was difficult for Freak to imagine that anything besides real fear was pressing Raj into acting so rashly. The human was calm, cold, conservative, and didn't act quickly except for when circumstances demanded it—what circumstances were demanding such sudden action was a mystery to the li-tigon.

Raj was all out of little helpers, and explained that taking a vehicle into town would only attract attention and compromise them. They were going to make this journey on foot alone.

They'd all slept until about midnight—or, at least, the cats had. Raj had remained wide awake and worried, patrolling the edge of the Sacred Mesa, always armed, always ready to fight. A constant drizzle of rain provided cover, but it worked in two ways—Raj's visibility was as decreased as anyone that might be watching.

It was a new moon that night. Any light that reached the group was refracted from the atmosphere itself, or simply from the dull glow of a port city—their destination. Crickets chirped, now and then, when they could find cover from the rain. But apart from that, it was silent.

Freak dozed off well after Nasher and Kochai did. His sleep wasn't deep, it was transient and troubled, plagued with vague suspicions and a general sense of unease. When Raj ended it by merely approaching the li-tigon, he stood, immediately.

"Now?" he murmured, stretching.

Raj merely nodded, and proceeded to wake Kochai and Nasher. The tigress kitten was all smiles as was the norm; she didn't seem to pick up on the nervousness of the adults—to her, this was just another adventure. Freak felt somewhat uplifted, but Raj didn't—he just checked his rifle, then the numerous backup weapons he carried, and knelt to speak to the group in silence.

"I don't want there to be any noise, at all. I have a contact in our destination—he's been keeping track of things for me, recently, and it seems that my dear brother may have obtained support and funding from a larger, much more dangerous criminal operation. A few weeks ago, a great deal of hardware was stolen from a military convoy… night vision goggles, SMAWs, and new assault rifles. If Shah was responsible for that, which could easily be very true, I do _not_ want to tangle with him on any terms but my own."

"You have a friend at the port city… you never told us this before," Freak mentioned, flexing his claws.

"It's not something that you should be concerned about. He can't offer direct assistance to you… or me, for that matter."

The li-tigon turned away, peering out over the sprawling jungle below them. The odds were stacked against him and Raj—he didn't understand why the human was unwilling to share what little assets were available.

"I'm sorry, Scar," Raj said after a moment, "You must understand—he has many worries of his own right now. I had to call in a number of favors to get him to help me even this much. Your land isn't the only one ruled by terror right now."

Freak sighed, shortly, then nodded, if grimly.

"It's alright. Then… shall we go?"

Raj nodded again. Then, as he started to move towards the hidden stairwell that led to the top of the Mesa, the cats fell in behind him. Nasher gave his daughter a serious glance, telling her that this wasn't the time to play around. In response, Kochai put a digit to her lips, nodding, seriously, before peering around, suspiciously, scarcely straying two feet from her father.

Freak brought up the rear, and, as they left the Mesa and entered the forest itself, he was a bit surprised with himself—he'd done nothing but increase his lean muscular mass for at least a month, now. He was a quite large by any standards, but he was graceful as well.

_"Maybe I learned a lesson… float like a… sting like a… …I wish I was more poetic."_

Here on the ground, under the slowly swaying, damp trees, it was dark, but Raj led the group surefootedly and without pause. He'd been wandering the jungles of Hindustan for most of his life, now, and didn't need his eyes as much as most would—he could tell where he was by sheer experience. Maybe he'd get lost in a city, someday—but here, he'd never get lost.

He was holding his rifle close, right hand on the pistol grip, left hand on the forearm. Warily, he crept on, all of his senses on high alert. Though he was traveling with three beings whose physical senses _far_ outstripped his, particularly at night, he saw things that they didn't—he could piece together little irregularities far more quickly than they could, giving him a perceived precognitive ability. It was something that even Freak was unlikely to be able to pick up, no matter how much time he spent around the human.

Raj's boots danced noiselessly across the damp ground. Something was wrong. He couldn't put his finger on it, but paused, slowing down, and lifted his PDA, bringing up a topographic map of the surrounding

"Ah…"

They were in a valley, it seemed, so slight and so gradually sloping that it was all but impossible to tell without advanced surveying equipment. This created a great conundrum for Raj—here, water movement bred thicker, larger trees and better cover, offering numerous distractions that might allow them to pass unnoticed. Of course, if they were found, they were at a severe disadvantage.

Moving up the gradual incline made them more visible, but taking the high ground would, of course, offer clear advantages if they had to fight.

"Is something wrong, Raj?" Nasher murmured, almost making the human jump, though his voice was so soft it was almost missed over the hushed whisper of a nearby stream.

"Nothing, Uncle," the human replied. "But please, stay very close… and no more talking."

The tiger nodded, and, though Raj couldn't see it, knew that the tiger was complying. This wasn't Nasher's style—normally, he'd complain about the length of the journey, the undue precautions they were taking, the ache in his bones, or back… but not this time. He, too, felt that there was something out here to _fear_.

* * *

Basketball sneakers—Nikes, to be specific—didn't really go with their clothes. Style, though, was one of the last things on their minds. Other concerns, namely, money, pride, power, and notoriety—these outranked respect for fashion.

"Are you sure this decision will be beneficial in the long term?" he asked, twirling a rosary with his left hand, adjusting his powerful, brand-new infrared goggles with the other. "Getting into bed with a man like that, I mean… I don't know that it's wise."

"What's done is done," Shah replied coldly, "and I'm not interested in being questioned. I admit, that spook was creepy…" he shrugged, before shuddering, a little—their contact was far, _far_ more than creepy.

The fact that they'd met in a slaughterhouse, the fact that Shah felt inexplicably nauseous, off-balance, and terrified around him… the fact that he couldn't see the other man's eyes, and the fact that, several times, he swore he saw the flash of vicious, foot-long fangs beneath the mask he wore….

Bah. Bah. He was just being silly; his memory was editing itself. There was nothing to complain about.

"Still. Becoming a branch of that group involves risk, yes; and, even if we achieve our goals, we'll have to contribute to theirs, but I don't mind it. Spending blood and money to do this noble act is justified—you should know this, of all people. You were my teacher, after all."

"Be that as it may," the older man said, smiling, a little, swapping his rosary for a handheld two-way radio, "I am, above all else, a practical man. There's no wisdom in entering a relationship that might demand for us to fight, directly or indirectly, in places I can neither pronounce nor pretend to care about—especially when our own victory is far from guaranteed, and our franchisors, so to speak, are known to… _liquidate_… bad investments."

"In that case, think of it as motivation," Shah murmured, slowly starting to kneel. "And then, get into position. I'm firing the first shot. After that, everyone else can join in, but I don't want to expose anyone to unnecessary risk."

"I hear and obey, mighty sheikh," the older man said smoothly. "I wonder, though—why on _Earth_ is he leading three—no, two tigers and a… thing… towards the Ganges? For that matter… _how_ is he doing it?"

"I don't know, and I don't give a damn about finding out," Shah replied, donning a throat-mike set, peering to his belt to enter the encrypted channel his gang was using for radio communications. "I don't need to understand my brother to kill him."

* * *

_"It would take another hour to circle around this field—it's a bloody waste of time, and I want to get to the city ASAP. In fact, I've just decided that this is no longer a dry run. We'll stay in the city… somehow. Feeding these three may be hard… …I suppose I could use them to help solve the overpopulation problem… Marvelous. Now I feel like a jackass for thinking like Shah."_

Raj dropped to knee, staring straight ahead. Noiselessly, Freak, Nasher, and the now sleeping Kochai formed up on his sides. They were at the very edge of a treeline, about to enter a wide swath of waist-high grass. And when I say grass, I hopefully don't mean the kind that you keep on your lawn—I mean… _grass_.

Gripping his G3 with his left hand, the human raised a pair of binoculars to his eyes, and peered around.

Nothing. He saw nothing unusual—not even a single _shadow_, it seemed, was out of place.

Maybe _that_ was what was annoying him.

Vaguely, Raj considered doing something radical, unexpected, unforeseeable—such as, for instance, razing the field in front of him to the ground. Of course, it would upset some rich farmer, somewhere, but who cared? As long as Raj covered his mouth with a handkerchief, he'd be fine—provided, of course, that felines weren't capable of getting stoned… no, that wasn't likely; they were mammals too.

"Kochai," Raj said after a moment, not looking away from the field for a second, "pick a number between one and five."

"Hmm…" the tigress kitten whispered, pacing around her father's shins, for a moment, before sitting directly in front of the human, looking up at him. "I pick… pi."

"That'll do. Good decision," the human said, glancing down at her, winking, for the briefest second.

"Alright," he whispered, "we'll be taking the scenic route—you see that pass, over there?" Raj asked, standing, nodding towards a distant but distinct convergence of two low but steep hills. "After we pass through, we only need to go due south, and then we'll reach the city by this time tomorrow. I—"

Supersonic bullets have a very, very annoying tendency to strike their targets, followed, seconds later, by their reports.

That meant that Raj had a full second to freeze, stare at a nearby sapling that had been reduced to sawdust, before falling, as if knocked over by the booming roar of sound that signaled that they'd been found.

"No, no, I'm alright—GET TO COVER! NOW! NOW!"

Raj shoved Freak away as he got to his feet; he hadn't been hit, but if they didn't watch themselves, soon, they'd all be chewed up by the long streams of steelcores and tracers that suddenly blasted towards their position from at least a dozen locations.

The li-tigon didn't nod, he just ran the second he was certain his friend was alright. Nasher had already grabbed his daughter and dived behind a tree, hugging the trunk to avoid gunfire. Freak took cover at another tree, and leaned out to speak to his great-uncle, when a bullet slashed across the spiked bark, _very_ nearly taking a chunk of the li-tigon's lip with it.

"How many?" Freak asked, as Nasher released his daughter to reply.

"I counted fifteen of them," the tiger said thinly, "Did you see where they are?"

"Along the top of the mountains," Freak said, having to speak rather loudly to be heard over the gunfire. "Raj! Get behind cover; what are you doing?"

A second later, though, the answer to the li-tigon's question became apparent.

The human had dived into the Hindustani equivalent of a rosebush—it hurt like a motherfucker, but beat getting shot. From there, he'd reached to the small of his back and snapped up a 37mm flare pistol. Launching the bright projectile into the air, where it hung and would hang, for at least a few moments, Raj memorized the positions of his attackers as quickly as possible, even as they took cover.

Incoming fire let up. Foolishly, a man on a hill, several hundred yards away, continued to pound Raj's general position with a steady stream of 7.62x54mmR bullets, fired from a PK machinegun. Raj ignored the shells blowing divots out of the ground all around him, and merely lifted his rifle, aimed, carefully, before snapping off a burst that put the gunner down.

"Let's go," the human said, voice easily audible in the unexpected lull of the battle. "Move between cover as quickly as possible; they can see our heat signatures. Don't think about attacking them—if you need covering or suppressing fire, I'll do what I can. But our objective is to get out—if we make it to the pass, we can escape. Understood? Alright… on my mark, then," the human said, making eye contact with Freak, then Nasher, to ensure that he'd been heard, readying his rifle. "Go!"

Just as the felines left cover, Raj dived out of the bush, tearing jagged, shallow cuts into his face and hands and arms in the process. He landed on the ground on his belly, using his elbows for support, and started to fire short, cautious bursts, intending to gain a few seconds to move a few yards in—he didn't have a great amount of ammunition with him.

His tactic worked, though—after snapping off six or seven shots, Raj got up and sprinted, sliding behind another tree just as the sloppily halted attack resumed again. He didn't peek out of cover; he'd seen Freak and Nasher and Kochai move up farther, without getting hit.

Raj was about to fire again; he was leaning, just a little, the muzzle of his rifle out of cover. It was then that his dear brother fired again—and this time, he hit what he was shooting it.

"Gah!" Raj exclaimed suddenly, jumping back, hands held wide in surprise, as the G3KA4 shattered from his grip, broken beyond repair.

Things had gone from bad to worse in the space of that brief second. Of course, Raj had plenty of back-up weapons, including firearms, but his rifle was his best long-range defensive measure. The rest of his guns were pea-shooters compared to the .308 rounds the German-designed gun fired.

He surmised, correctly, that his brother was maintaining close communications with his gang. Fire shifted directly towards _him_, and another sniper shot cracked into the tree just next to his head—Shah was prioritizing; taking out the biggest threat first. After that, his operatives would circle around Freak, Nasher and Kochai, and capture or kill them, or both.

A number of contingencies passed through Raj's mind—surrender and negotiation were some of them. He couldn't take the moralistic high ground; not always, anyway. There were times for him, and others, when it was both prudent and necessary to negotiate with terrorists.

This, though, didn't seem like one of those times. Shah wanted—and had wanted, for several years, now, his brother's head, severed and served on a platter. What's more, Raj had, essentially, nothing to offer—that is, nothing that he was willing to offer. He had few assets to his name, few contacts, few relationships, and, likely, none that Shah would value. And as for Freak, Nasher, and Kochai… they were entirely non-negotiable.

The only choice, then, was to fight back.

With a single, deft shove, Raj removed the pouches of extra G3 magazines he was carrying. He came up with a MAC-10/9; a simple, cheap, but surprisingly effective submachinegun, capable of hosing down an admittedly large target area with dozens and dozens of small-caliber bullets at a rate of over 1,000 rounds per minute.

Of course, he had to be careful to not burn through rounds _too_ quickly. But by pressing the trigger every few seconds while he moved, Raj was able to both gain ground, to a degree, and deter enemy advance.

It couldn't last, though. And everyone—Raj, the felines, Shah's gang—knew it.

So, instead of wasting ammunition, the human quit firing—he'd wait until his enemies were actually within range to engage them. Until then, though, he had to keep moving.

And, oddly enough, such a tactic seemed to be working.

Up ahead, Raj saw Freak pause, turn, giving him a desperate look. Things were heating up, and if Shah had any RPGs or grenades, he'd be using them soon. So the human waved for Freak to move on—he'd catch up soon, after they got out of the valley.

The way the fight was going, though, was changing. Now, instead of pouring fire down on Raj and the felines from the mountainsides, Shah's gang was moving out to cut them off at the distant pass, and engage them at medium range. Machinegunners continued to keep fire up, so Raj assumed that the ones coming down into the valley were armed with lighter weapons—probably carbines or rifles or shotguns.

Thinking for a second, Raj flipped open a Velcro pouch, and tossed a smoke grenade several dozen yards ahead of him. He waited, counting to five, and then moved, quickly—his brother had kept a good mark on him, and, the second he was out of cover, a bullet roared through the air, just behind him.

It was difficult for the human to see through the dense, white smoke, but it was even more difficult for his enemies to see—at least until someone, probably Shah, with infrared vision, started to guide their fire. Regardless—Raj was still a few seconds ahead of the dozens of rounds that chased after him.

Freak, Nasher and Kochai, it seemed, weren't being specifically targeted—not yet, anyway. They picked up on that, quickly, and instead of darting from tree to tree, they ran directly towards the pass that would lead them to escape and safety.

Nasher was carrying his daughter by the scruff of her neck; Kochai couldn't run fast enough on her own. Freak led his relatives, keeping his eyes open—and that paid off.

Suddenly, the li-tigon froze, and dove to the side, getting behind cover. Sensing danger, Nasher did the same, as Freak listened, lowering himself to the ground, preparing to attack or defend as necessary.

A second later, he jumped out, just at the right time. His right paw lashed out, striking the man's head with a sickening _crack_, shattering several bones. The human was unconscious or worse before he hit the ground, but, just to be sure, Freak surgically but quickly inserted a tooth into the man's neck, and ripped out his jugular. There was a reason for the li-tigon's brutality—his enemy was carrying a Striker-12 revolver shotgun.

"There's more of them," Nasher said, bodily covering his daughter, just in case, "Two to the left; three to the right. They're going to ambush him, Scar. We need to take them out, and quickly—see, the rest on the mountainside are moving to cut us off, a well."

"Then we don't have much time," Freak said curtly. "I go this way, you go that way. Okay?"

"Alright."

"Alright."

"Then—go!"

Kochai stayed where she was; even the fearless tigress was smart enough to know that entering a battlefield like this was suicide, for her. Freak went right, Nasher went left. And a few screams, bites, roars, and other, more brutal acts of violence later, and Shah's advance force was down.

The two adult felines converged back where Kochai was. Both their muzzles and paws were bloodied—they'd done their jobs, and well. This time, it was Freak who picked Kochai up; Nasher held his position to make sure that Raj knew where to find them.

The li-tigon moved on, though—the pass was within a few hundred yards, now. They were going to survive this, incredibly.

He wasn't sure what made him pause, and turn. Flowery bursts of automatic gunfire chattered out from the mountainsides, still; he only realized that he'd heard the dull, low _thunk_ of Shah's rifle in hindsight.

Freezing, managing to see through and past a hundred yards of dense vines, foliage, trees, and war-torn jungle and field, Freak saw Raj pause, putting a hand to his gut… then fall.

"Kochai," the li-tigon said, putting the kitten down, taking a second to ensure that she was unlikely to come under fire, "stay here; your father is on the way—hold on."

She said something, then, that Freak never heard. The li-tigon was moving too fast, sprinting that quarter mile in about a minute flat. Vines and leaves simply fell apart as they collided with his powerful, robust form, reduced to julienned, green slivers that almost floated to the ground.

Freak passed Nasher—the tiger hadn't noticed that Raj had been hit, he'd been pinned down, for a moment, by a distant PKM. As the li-tigon passed, he yelled at his great-uncle to get to Kochai; he'd take care of Raj.

Seconds later, Freak was close enough to see just how grievous the injury Raj had taken was. The li-tigon leaped over his human friend, dodging a trail of gunfire, and grabbed him with a paw, rather roughly, pulling him behind cover.

The human tried to speak, but Freak simply ignored him, cutting him off with a snarl, and worked, quickly, to get his bleeding under control. Holes were still being dug into the ground all around them by concentrated, thirty caliber gunfire, as well as the occasional booming roar of Shah's sniper rifle.

"Have you ever heard of the saying," Raj said, before coughing, blood flowing from his mouth, "fight fire… with fire…?"

"Yes," Freak said, applying a great deal of pressure to the human's chest, so much so that Raj could scarcely breathe, "but I don't see how it's relevant…"

The li-tigon's voice cracked, slightly. If he pushed any harder, the human would, simply, be crushed. Yet… he was still bleeding profusely, both internally and externally. So Freak drew his paw back, and extended a claw, intending to slice Raj's clothes open; perhaps if he got the bullet out… then, he froze.

"You see now?"

Raj wasn't only wearing a shirt. He was wearing body armor, soft Kevlar that did nothing to stop the .50 caliber slug that his brother fired.

He was also wearing a suicide vest.

"I see," Freak said, coldly—he quickly pressed himself against a tree, as a swath of bullets slashed _just_ in front of him.

"I'm so sorry, Scar. You wouldn't understand if I'd told you before, yes?... of course you wouldn't. You don't understand it now, and that's not necessary."

The li-tigon bristled, and didn't turn to look at Raj. Still, the only thing keeping him where he was were the concentrated efforts of five or six machinegunners.

"Why didn't you tell us? What made you take such extreme measures; it must have been something solid, something concrete…"

Raj shook his head, a motion Freak saw out of the corner of his eye.

"Not at all, actually. It's just something that the Dark One told me, through Asal, a very, very long time ago. I can't remember what it is right now; I've lost too much blood… it was something about trusting your instincts, or something…"

The human was rasping, now, struggling to speak. He turned to the side, lacking the energy to spit the blood that had collected in his mouth out, and, trembling, reached into a pocket, pulling out a small, wired detonator.

"Now," Freak said, turning slowly, but not quite meeting Raj's eyes, "I understand. …You're sure… there's no other way?"

The human shook his head. He would have said something, but had little energy left; he had to conserve it, he couldn't speak—well, he could say at least a few words. He owed Freak that much.

"You need to go," Raj mumbled, so that Freak had to listen, closely, taking his attention off the battle, "but before you do… I'm very grateful for your friendship. And… please tell Uncle and Kochai the same."

"I will, Raj," Freak said, finally meeting the human's eyes, trying to keep focused on his goal of escaping, getting back to the Land of the Spirits, "and before I go… I'm very, very grateful for every gift you've given me... your knowledge, your time, and your friendship. So… thank you, Raj. Thank you."

There was nothing left to say. And, for a moment, fire eased up; Shah's operatives were going to move in to confirm the kill, it seemed—excellent. The end to Raj's story would almost certainly clinch an unhindered escape for Freak, Nasher, and Kochai.

Freak left, running again, instantly, but not as fast as he just had. There was still much ground to cover, and he didn't want to exhaust himself.

The li-tigon passed a certain part of the forest, did a double-take, then dived behind cover. Shah's gang implemented two or three grenades several yards away, attempting to deter him from moving on, and, after the ringing in his ears subsided, Freak called out to Nasher.

"What are you doing? I told you to get to Kochai, why are you—"

Freak crept along the ground, for a moment, as a series of rapid bursts roared through the forest above him—a human shout of anger and fear was heard; at this range, Shah's people needed to be careful of friendly fire.

He got to Nasher in time to haul the tiger into better cover, and see what could be done about the five or six cork-sized bullet holes in his upper ribcage. But before Freak had put his relative down, he could see that it wasn't much. Already, Nasher was choking to death on his own blood, eyes rolling to the back of his head. His vitals had been hit…

Somehow, though, the tiger managed to speak, in a gurgling, terrible, throaty throne that hurt Freak to hear.

"Get… going… Kochai… take… to… Land… home… with you," he murmured. "Here… nothing is… left… tell her… goodbye… and… I love her…"

The li-tigon didn't attempt to stop the out-of-body sensation that was coming over him—he could _not_ deal with the losses of both Nasher and Raj so quickly, so soon. He merely nodded, and, hardly realizing what he was doing, embraced his relative, set him down—tenderly—and shut his eyes.

Then, he was off.

Now, Freak started to pull himself back to reality. Occasionally, loud bursts of gunfire barreled through the jungle, but as the li-tigon left the nexus of the battle, they grew quiet, distorted. He seemed to have slipped past Shah's gang, and by the time they realized that, he and Kochai would be long gone.

He was approaching where the tigress had been left, and felt a sudden prickle of concern—there was no way that she, too, had been killed or captured… was there?

Then, though, Kochai became visible, peeking out from behind a bush. She seemed relieved to see that Freak was back, but squeaked in surprise as the li-tigon lifted her, then tossed her onto his back—he had no intentions of stopping moving until they were in the city.

"Big brother, why are we going so quickly? Are Raj and Father coming up after us? Are they waiting for us up ahead?" she asked, peering into the distance, always hopeful, always happy.

Freak didn't answer, for a moment. He'd dealt with the deaths of his mother and sister before he was a minute old—before he was able to comprehend what had happened. Kochai had been hit hard by Asal's death… but she'd moved on. But then, Nasher was—or, rather, had been… her only remaining parent.

"No," the li-tigon said softly, after a moment, "they're…"

His voice trailed off; he couldn't bring himself to say it explicitly, no matter how much he wanted to, no matter how much she needed to know. Shah's gang seemed to notice them, at that moment, and Freak leaped to the side, then sprung off a tree, diving over a large, foreboding plant, getting out of view, as a stream of bullets followed him.

At last, they were out of the valley. Freak glanced over his shoulder, for a moment, watching the pass disappear behind him, then ran on. They'd escaped. But Raj and Nasher never would.

* * *

"It's been some time, hasn't it, brother."

"Yes… I suppose it has."

A soft chuckled rolled through the group. Their leader strutted through the clearing, rifle slung carelessly over his back as he rubbed his hands together with glee—the tiger that had been shot was old and less shiny and sleek than the ideal specimen, but a quick visual check suggested that this one had visible _Caspian_ ancestry, something that a collector in the West or an oil-rich Middle Eastern country would value greatly—but something that some activist scientist would like even more, and be willing to pay through the nose for.

"So, how's your business, your job? I hear it's very successful, yes? It's bringing a lot of money in to our village. You've been making Mother and Father proud, haven't you, Raj?"

Shah's tone was mocking, but, at a deeper level, it was also outraged, angry, malicious. Raj took it in stride, though, after pausing, for a moment, accepting that, despite everything, he did feel guilty, very guilty, for being unable to accept the community he'd been born into.

"It's going… quite… well," Raj murmured, managing to sit up, somehow. "You see, my dear brother… I might not give much… in terms of assets. But I don't… take honor, or safety, or anything… worth living for. I'm the worst son our parents have… with one exception."

Shah's eyes narrowed, but he shrugged, and stopped, looking down at his brother with genuine curiosity. He knelt, brow furrowed, before speaking.

"I still don't understand, Raj. You're not gaining anything by joining our fight—so, maybe you don't agree with it 100%... why don't you suck it up? No movement is without flaw. I admit, I don't like getting into bed with… bigger powers," he said ominously, "but some ends justify some means."

"Very true," Raj whispered. "Some ends… justify some means."

"You didn't answer my question."

Raj laughed at that, sadly. Everything hurt, now—he wasn't coughing up anymore blood, it had all either congealed along his throat, or most of his veins had already shut down.

"I have so many times in the past, Shah. Even if I say it again, now, what will change?"

Shah shrugged, and, in a clean, fluid motion, lifted his rifle, nudging his brother's head with the muzzle.

"Humor me, and I'll finish you quickly, instead of leaving you here to rot. Maybe I'll even give you a proper funeral."

Raj closed his eyes, and attempted to shake his head—but he had no energy.

"Some ends… justify _no_ means…. at all."

Shah laughed at that, loudly, and, a moment later, his gang joined in. A loud, sharp crack echoed through the trees, then, and, a second later, Shah spat on his brother's reddened cheek.

"Insolent to the end, I see," he sneered. "Ah, well. I'm glad to say that from tonight onwards, I won't have to worry about you anymore, brother—good riddance. Now that the thorn in my side you posed is no more… heheh. I'm gonna _rock_ this country. You can count on that."

"Good luck to you, then," Raj said, smiling in a bizarre fashion, eyes shut. "But Shah, I have one final thing to say—come here, please? I can't speak very loudly…"

Shah blinked, paused, then rolled his eyes and complied. He might as well grant Raj his dying wish—he had, after all, granted his brother nothing else in life.

"Some ends…. Justify… some means," Raj murmured, as the muscles in his arm started to twitch, oddly, as if he was trying to flex… a finger, or something. Perhaps he was attempting to make a rude gesture… but somehow, Shah didn't think that was his style. So he leaned in, and listened closely.

"For instance…" Raj whispered, "killing you… justifies… suicide bombing…"

* * *

The roar was both audible and tangible, despite the thousands of yards and tons of thick vegetation that separated Freak and the smoking, smoldering crater where Raj had been until a moment ago. The li-tigon had jumped, a little, at the blast, turned back, saw the plume of thick, black smoke rise into the air in the shape of a giant mushroom that hauntingly danced through the air … then moved on, feeling a grim sense of relief. Raj's suffering had ended, and, along with it, Shah, and the rest of his gang.

Kochai was still crying—he didn't blame her. If it wasn't for a life of death and violence, the li-tigon probably would have been in tears as well.

Walking along, he wondered if he really, truly felt sadness, sorrow, for what had just happened. Perhaps he was still numb, and emotion would set in later, but, for some reason, the li-tigon doubted it. Nasher and Raj had died honorably, doing what they believed in. They'd taken many enemies down with them, and Freak was alive to make sure that their efforts weren't in vain. So, rather than focusing on how they'd died, Freak started to think about how they'd _lived_; the pranks they'd occasionally pulled on one another, the conversations they'd had, the acceptance they'd shown each another…

"Don't be so sad, Kochai," Freak said after a moment, softly, gently, yet, at the same time, firmly. "Raj and your father both died for many reasons. One of them was so that you, and me, would be able to live on—but not just live. They wanted us to live on in peace, and happiness—do you know what the last thing your father said was? The absolute last thing?"

"No," the tigress sobbed, burying her face into Freak's fur, "does it matter?"

"He wanted me to tell you that he always has, and always will love you," the li-tigon said. He wasn't lying—that was, no doubt, what Nasher _wanted_—it just wasn't exactly what he'd said. "As for how much it matters, you should decide that for yourself. …But I think it matters. A lot."

Slowly, Kochai stopped crying. She sniffled, a few times, then looked up.

"Really, big brother?"

"Yes," Freak said, "and as for Raj… he said that he was very, very grateful to be your friend. Just like me."

She was silent, for a moment, thinking to herself. They were in a dark, quiet, misty part of the forest, now, dominated by stout trees, sudden ponds, and a bizarre sense of serenity at this hour. There was a strangely spiritual feel about the area; Kochai and Freak both felt as if someone had taken a blanket and wrapped it around them, protecting them, at least temporarily, from the cold, harsh world outside.

"I'm still sad," Kochai said quietly, resting her chin on Freak's shoulder blade, "but not very. I hope I was a good friend to Raj, and a good daughter to Father… and I hope I'm a good friend to you, big brother. I hope I am."

The li-tigon was silent; he just walked along, listening to the quiet sounds of the forest, and the even more quiet sounds of Kochai on his back, slowly but surely falling asleep.

"Don't worry, Kochai. You are."

* * *

They didn't quite go to the city nonstop. Kochai woke a few hours before noon, as Freak still plodded along, almost zombielike. The tigress insisted that he take a break, and a nap; she'd keep an eye on things. Perhaps against his better judgment, the li-tigon conceded, and awoke to find that, predictably, Kochai was missing. She turned up again within a few moments, of course—with a small fawn in tow.

The rest of the day was spent walking; this time, Freak didn't carry the tigress. She was still a very young cub, of course, but his "parenting" style was harsh—the best lessons were those that were self-taught, in his opinion.

Very quickly, Freak started to notice changes in the environment, as they neared the city. The air was thicker here, hotter—it carried in it a thousand scents that Freak never would, and never could, completely understand. Fortunately, there was still plenty of cover—several times, the li-tigon had to stop, take cover, indicating for Kochai to do the same, as groups of men on foot or in vehicles passed, never closer than a hundred or so yards.

Then, though, they hit a problem.

"Kochai," Freak said, standing erect, brow furrowed, as he looked out over the landscape ahead of him, "please climb that tree… tell me what we're looking at."

The tigress snapped off a sharp salute, stylishly, before complying. Freak was perched on a cliff overlooking a sheer, thousand-foot drop—there was an almost dangerous lack of cover here, but the li-tigon wasn't too worried. Within a second he and Kochai could disappear, if need be.

"Oh, this, big brother? This is the city! What did you expect it to look like?"

_"Less depressing,"_ Freak thought without answering.

Kochai was on a leafless branch—on its very frail, wobbling tip, in fact, to get a better view of the landscape below them.

It was almost sunset, now. Directly in front of the two felines, the Sun hung, temporarily, just above the horizon. Radiating shades of peach, purple, pink, orange, due to the thick, almost noxious haze in the air, it did almost nothing to take away from the miles and miles of slums below.

Houses and businesses mashed together, all but unrecognizable from one another. Children played in streets and parks where garbage was blatantly more common than grass or even relatively _clean_ dirt. Freak understood little of this, though. All he knew was that when he looked at this expanse of neighborhood, he felt a chronic lack of hope emanating from it.

"Millions of people live here," Freak said, looking for any conceivable way to reach the wide, rapid river that cut the town in two. "Thousands of people separate us from our goal—it's too much to hope that we'll be able to get to the Ganges, when necessary to board the ship. For that matter… we won't even know when it's time to go. At this distance, I won't be able to see the symbol on it when it arrives…"

"Don't worry big brother—woops!" Kochai said, as she bounded towards the li-tigon, making his heart freeze when she _almost_ fell, plunging to an early death. "The city is big. It's not all like this—see, all we have to do is follow the river. There are many places next to it where there are none, or, at least, less, people. Don't be so sad. We'll find something, right?"

Her optimism was infectious. Of course, Freak wasn't exactly likely to give up, merely because the odds were stacked against him, but normally, he would have just shrugged, and grimly gotten to work at the task at hand. Now, though, he actually smiled, and felt a sense of hope for himself, for the future—he _would_ find a way to get onto the ship, and then, back to the Land of the Spirits.

"Alright, Kochai. We'll play it your way—"

"Play? So, this is a game? How do I win?" the tigress asked, suddenly focused, ears flattened, as she lowered herself to the ground, ready to tear off to whatever objective Freak would set.

"Calm down, calm down," the li-tigon said. "…In fact, yes, Kochai, it's a game. To win it, you have to stay here, and not move a muscle until I return—"

"Nice try, big brother, but it'll be best if we split up and search for possibilities—all right, then at least let me come with you, yes? I don't want to be here, all alone, bored, worried… cold, tired, and hungry…" the young tigress said, looking up at Freak with big, green eyes, and a trembling, pouting lip.

"Cold. Brilliant," Freak said coolly. "Hindustan is as hot as my homeland, and far more humid… …but, alright."

"Yippee! I'll see you later then—we'll meet here in six hours, yes? Yes. Goodbye, big br—"

"Not so fast," the li-tigon said, pouncing, using a paw to bar Kochai from a speedy escape. "We're not splitting up; it's too dangerous. Besides, I need you, Kochai—you can climb things that I can't, and you know things that I don't. Even if it takes a little longer to find a good place to reach the river, it's all right—we have time."

"Alright, big brother," the tigress sighed, pouting until she saw, from Freak's total lack of reaction, that such a tactic wouldn't work. Kochai saluted in a resigned manner, then thought to herself for a moment—this was what her parents had taught her to do, after all—stop and think when possible. This was a strategy that both Freak and Raj had agreed with and emphasized, during their altogether short time on the Sacred Mesa.

To test just how sharp Kochai was, and to ensure that there wasn't anything he wasn't taking into consideration, Freak decided to give the tigress a little quiz, so to speak.

"What are our objectives?" Freak asked.

"First, we must find a safe way to get to the Ganges. After that, we must find a place to stay, one that allows us to see to the river so that we know which ship to get on…"

"Go on," the li-tigon prompted. "What concerns are there, specifically, for our objectives?"

"Many," Kochai replied, biting her lip. "We cannot be seen by any humans, big brother—or, any sentient or nonsentient animals that might tell them. We have to find water that's safe to drink… but I am not so worried about food. Any time we want, we can go into the jungle, yes? There's plenty of food these days, since the Season of the Rains is ending."

"Good… I'm impressed," the li-tigon said emotionlessly, "however…"

"The trip to your homeland will take some time, big brother," Kochai said, "so, we'll have to carry extra food with us… we'll have to take it onto the ship also… and water, too, because we cannot drink water from the ocean—that's what Mother told me a long time ago, I think."

"She's right," Freak said. "Now, tell me, Kochai—what advantages do we have?"

"Not so many… Shah's gang won't bother us anymore. We don't have any determined enemies, and no one knows that we're here… no one knows what we're going to do, also. That means that we have… I don't remember what it's called, big brother," Kochai said sadly, "it is… a substance, a compound, or something… of…"

"The element of surprise," Freak said, "yes."

"The element of surprise," Kochai repeated. "It's a good advantage, but, big brother, I don't know if it's enough. Just because no one will specifically go against us, that we know of… I don't know, big brother. Raj was supposed to be here and guide us, every step of the way—oh," the tigress paused, as if she'd suddenly realized something, "when the ship comes… there will be no more us… right, big brother? This is my home, after all, and I can't survive the journey; I can't swim fifteen miles… I'm too small. Besides, Father would want me to stay behind and make sure that our bloodline goes on, just as it's supposed to."

"Actually, no," Freak said, looking back at the city, as if trying to discern something from its chaotic, jumbled _lack_ of organization, "there's nothing left for you here."

That sounded cold.

"He wants you to come with me, back to the Land of the Spirits—and, Kochai… little sister… don't tell me that you don't want to. How many times have you asked me to tell you stories about everyone that lives there?"

"Not so many," the tigress said, hardly containing her excitement. "Oh, I cannot wait—I have never met another female before, besides Mother—I'll have so many new friends, yes? I hope they like me… oh, no, I'm so nervous, big brother—ah… you have never called me little sister, before… I am touched."

Freak lips were upturned, but not much. There were many things more eloquent beings would have said there, but he just reached out, placed a paw on the kitten's head, and then, started down the steep, rocky hill, making his way to the city's outskirts.

"Don't worry, Kochai. Everybody loves you."

* * *

Midnight in this part of the city was _not_ what one with any semblance of common sense would call a good time to be out. Over the past month or two, ten people had been assaulted on four different occasions. Burglaries and muggings were startlingly commonplace, especially this time of year—before harvests started to come in, there always was a slight shortage of food. But with the exploding population of the city, this year, such a problem would be aggravated—and greatly.

That's why, after dark, when police went home, gangs ruled the streets.

Imagine, if you will, being in an alley, minding—or doing—your own business, facing the street—a simple, two-way road comprised of packed dirt and gravel. Things would be quiet, of course, at this hour, and the glow of the middle and upper class parts of the city would do you little good, due to the multistory, jam-packed flats scattered throughout this part of town. Maybe you'd be carrying a cigarette, or a pen, or maybe even a cheap, Chinese-made knife, but certainly—_certainly_ not food. Because if you were carrying food at this hour, you'd be inviting danger.

From the distance, perhaps two blocks away, you'd hear your first warning. At first, it might seem innocent and commonplace enough—a few barks, maybe a howl, or two—I mean, there are dogs all over the world, why should this particular city be an exception?

Then, though, you'd start to feel fear, or, at least, concern—at least, if you had common sense. After all, the way a soft, scampering sound would approach, pause, then pick up again; just as a flash of movement would flick past where the alley met the road… would be downright creepy.

For a minute, you'd neither see nor hear anything, and, maybe, assume that you were going to be left alone.

That's exactly when they'd attack.

You would have no chance to fight back at _all_, there would be far too many of them, and they had all the advantages—you would be cornered, without an obvious escape route, without a weapon in your hands. Within a second, they'd be all over you, tackling you to the ground, holding you while they relieved you of your food. Then, another second later, they'd be gone, just as you might start to scream for help. You'd get up, dazed, dirty, maybe a little injured, and then wonder, for a moment—what the Hell just happened?

* * *

"This is a delicate situation."

"We can't take too much food, or they'll get upset, and kill us all. But, we need more food than they're willing to let us have."

"Bastian—are there any signs, any at all, that the rest of our kind are doing well enough to share?"

"No. None."

"Then… are they weaker than us? Do we have a chance at defeating any in combat?"

"Not likely. We can only barely hold our borders as it is… offense, right now, isn't wise."

A half dozen of the leaders were holding a meeting; they did this biweekly or more frequently, as required. Some of them were wearing bandanas, some favored headbands, but their attire was all emblazoned, invariably, with their pack's symbol—a black background with a single, diagonal white stripe.

"Hmm. As I said… it's a delicate situation."

The leader was the oldest of them all, and slight of stature. His fur was long and rather wild, gray with black splotches, giving him an aptly rough appearance. The others, many of whom were related to him, if distantly, were invariably dark-furred—even those that were born light had been dirtied up by a life without cleanliness.

They were organized in a vacant lot; this was their de facto headquarters, their base of operations. Setting a paw to his mouth, the leader bowed his head, for a moment, pondering.

"Are there any favors we have that we can call in—any friends that might be willing to help us? At least, have any of our children found humans to take them in?"

The rest of the leaders shook their heads—save for one, who paused, for a moment, before stepping forward.

"Maybe… there is, perhaps, _something_…"

"Yes, what is it, Eton? Come along, boy, spit it out; we're desperate here."

"Well, I was just thinking," the younger stray said, frowning. "The Non-Aggression Pact we made when I was just a cub… maybe, we can trade intelligence with a big cat, in exchange for food, or something…"

"You think that's a viable path… well, if you do, then you're more hopeful than I am," the leader sighed, shaking his head. "We haven't met a big cat for _years_—the last one, I think, was before I became leader, wasn't it?"

"Yes, come to think of it. But Atlas—the Pact is still in effect, right? Perhaps, to the southeast… the city thins out, there's no food there, nothing; the jungle has started to reclaim what the humans haven't maintained. It's possible that there's a cat there, or near there—and if that's so, we can barter information on the other packs' movements, the humans' habits…"

The leader thought, for another moment, then shrugged.

"Technically… you are right. …Is everyone absolutely—and I mean _absolutely_—certain that they have no idea how to live on for another few weeks?... anyone. Anyone…? No… alright," Atlas said, turning back to Eton. "You're in charge of this little mission, then—take your subordinates and scout the region out; Saoul, you'll have to pull double-duty, my friend, and cover for Eton. As for the rest of you—halve your daytime patrols, and increase your nighttime patrols by 50%--the other packs are, surely, almost as desperate as we are, and it's not likely that they'll risk an attack by day; police presence is higher than I can remember it ever being. I want at least one spotter keeping track of the Northern Alliance at all times; they may be our greatest adversaries right now."

A pause.

"All right… I know this year is difficult for us, but we've been through worse—I'm sure we'll pull through."

For a moment, a few of the pack leaders looked skeptical, but then, as they thought, they realized that it was quite true—they _had_ been through other tough situations, this would be no different.

Atlas grinned, a little, and drew himself up.

"Then, let's fare each another well… one, two, three, JKT!"

The final word was chanted, almost shouted, by the rest of the group, so that, for a second, it resonated through the neighborhood. The meaning of their pack's name was lost in the pages of time; it had existed for generations and generations, well beyond living memory. What was important, though, was the emotion and loyalty associated with the name—rejuvenated with a fresh dose of hope, the leaders scattered, prepared for another few days of tough work.

Atlas was left alone; his direct subordinates would be completely fine without him indefinitely—he had as much time as he wanted.

Pacing, for a moment, he was consumed by his thoughts. His pack would survive, no doubt, but how would it survive? Would they have to take the risk of increasing raids on butcher shops and slaughterhouses? Would they have to declare war on a rival pack? Or, somehow, was their future tied with that of a big cat?

* * *

"Big brother, are you noticing this, or is it just me?" Kochai asked, leading the way, by a few yards; close enough for Freak to keep an eye on her, but far enough to give her a sense of independence.

The li-tigon looked up, for a moment, away from the worryingly close neighborhoods' edge, and tilted his head several degrees.

"Noticing…"

"The city is not so much here," the tigress said. "There are fewer buildings, and it looks like most of them aren't being used. If we keep going like this, then we could find a good place to stay."

"Excellent," Freak said emotionlessly, "but we're not going to commit to any one location today, or even within the next two days. We don't know enough about the city, and how it's used—don't worry, though. I'll plan some escape routes, places to hide, alternate shelters… that's another concern. We have to be able to see to the river, to tell when the ship's coming—but unless we get very, very lucky, if we look to the river, someone on the other side will be able to look back. Unless…" he paused, waiting to see if Kochai would be able to think of a solution to the slight dilemma.

"Ah… most of the humans' buildings have small holes," Kochai said, "for seeing out. If we uproot a plant and put it… against the wall… we should be able to peek out without being seen so easily. Yes?" she asked, looking at Freak hopefully.

"Very good, Kochai, very good," the li-tigon said with a slight smile. _"Your parents would be proud."_

That thought made him feel guilty, for a moment. But looking at the kitten in front of him, one would hardly guess that she'd lost both of her parents so recently, in such quick succession—it was, all at once, a phenomenon that was astounding and disheartening. It was incredible that such a small cub could move on so quickly, and it was repugnant that natural selection had created a being so capable of dealing with the loss of a parent.

All at once, Freak stopped in his tracks. He raised his snout, a little, and sniffed, twice, eyes narrowing.

"Kochai."

"Yes, big br—"

"Get down. Don't move."

The young tigress could tell from the seriousness in Freak's voice that this wasn't the time to play around. Without nodding, she complied, taking cover next to a bush, lowering herself, claws half-extended as she tried to follow Freak's gaze, to see what he was looking at…

For his part, Freak wasn't entirely sure whether to get down and back away, or go on the offensive and attack. He ended up in a half-crouch, reasonably hidden from view by a tuft of thick, wavy grass—his claws was fully extended; for a moment, it seemed, he was leaning heavily towards a preemptive strike.

Slowly, though, the danger passed. Reluctantly, Freak stood, again, peering after the threat… then glanced to Kochai. All was clear.

"What was it, big brother?" the tigress asked in a low, cautious tone, slinking over to the li-tigon's side, just as she'd previously done with her father. "Was it another hunter of some kind?"

"I wouldn't say that," Freak replied, still cautious, for a moment, before glancing down and giving Kochai a comforting smile. "It was a dog of some sort—you know what dogs are, right?"

"Somewhat," Kochai acknowledged. "I haven't met any, but Mother always used to say that they were different from us, but worthy of respect.

"She was right, for the most part. But that one—that one was looking for something," Freak said suspiciously, "I don't trust it, I—"

"You do not trust anything, big brother," Kochai giggled, rubbing the li-tigon's shin. "Please, don't be so uptight—oh, he's so skinny; I would bet that he was only looking for food!... why would a dog be looking for us, anyway?" the tigress asked. "There is no reason to do so, and it is a dangerous job anyway—any tiger could tear a lone dog apart."

Freak bit back a variant of his usual, "I'm not a lion,' response, and instead, paused, then shrugged.

"I'm not sure," he said, "it's just something Raj said… what was it, what was it…"

"Ah, yes. Dogs are man's best friend."

* * *

"Big brother, I'm hunnnnnngry," Kochai mewled. "Please, let me go for a hunt? I promise I'll be extra, extra careful!"

"Not happening," the li-tigon replied. He didn't so much as bat an eyebrow as the young tigress whined, pouting, nuzzling his forelegs affectionately. "You know that it's too dangerous. Just be a little patient—I'll go hunting for us both in a few hours; and I'll find water, too. I just want to be as sure as possible that you won't be found when I'm gone—you memorized the escape routes, right?... repeat them to me."

"Ohh… the first is that I am to go up there," Kochai said, jerking her head in a specific direction, "and then, I am to leave through the window, into the plains, and then go on to our rendezvous point. In the second, I am to climb up that mountainside and go through the forest at the top, and then go to our rendezvous point. And in the last one, big brother, I am to go through there," she said, nodding in another specific direction, "and then, I am to sneak through the hilly area over there, and then, go to the rendezvous point."

"Which is?"

"Five miles northwest of here, at the tallest tree in the valley next to the tallest mountain nearest to the cliff," Kochai said perfectly. "Yes?"

"Good. You're a very smart little kitten; you know that, Kochai?" Freak said, pausing, before tentatively reaching out, meaning to rub her under the chin. "I haven't lived very long, but in my life, I don't think I've _ever_ met someone as young as you, and as smart as you. Except, perhaps, one…"

"Don't be so shy, big brother," the tigress said, walking into Freak's paw, covering it with sisterly affection. "I do not know why you hesitate to touch me so; we have been through a lot together, yes? And, if things go according to plan, we shall go through much more together, yes?"

"I'm sorry," he sighed. "I'm just not used to things like this. My cubhood wasn't like yours."

Kochai nodded; she knew better than to ask Freak what his cubhood was like—she had, before, and had been turned down in a manner that suggested that, perhaps, she didn't actually want to know. Instead, the tigress kitten walked to his side, slumped over, and then paused.

"Who was it…" she said, "that is as young as me, and as… smart as me?" she blushed, embarrassed by the praise.

"Was," Freak corrected, "was. She'd be… much older than you, now. Not an adult, yet… but not a cub anymore. I can't imagine how smart she'd be, or how powerful—I'm talking about Uvuli," the li-tigon clarified—but, for some reason, Kochai already seemed to have realized who was talking about, and nodded, in an understanding, knowing manner.

"Hm," the li-tigon grinned. "Did I ever tell you… she helped me, and my relatives, take down the most powerful assassination corps in our homeland? She was fearless—well, almost. No one has a brain but no fear," the li-tigon said harshly, "she had courage… but sense, and caution. …I'm glad that we didn't turn out to be enemies. I'm glad to count her among my friends."

This was odd. For some reason, Freak felt not only a lack of restraint; his life had warned him, time and again, against the dangers of giving out information but for on a need-to-know basis—but he felt a need to talk, not just about his childhood and his life, but how it related to Uvuli.

"It's odd," he said, "that things turned out this way. Our first interaction, after all…"

"What was it?" Kochai asked, canting her head, pausing, before grinning a little. "Allow me to guess… you gave her a flower in exchange for some favor… or, perhaps, big brother, you found her alone, lost, and decided to bring her back to her parents?"

"What? No," Freak said, utterly bewildered, missing the nature of the tigress's assumptions entirely. "In fact… …well, I took her hostage."

The answer Kochai had expected was nothing like _that_. The tigress's eyes went wide in surprise, then curiosity, as she tilted her head.

"What? How? Why? You said that she was your friend! Please, tell me the story, big brother? I'm old enough now, pleeeeeeeeeease?"

"I took her hostage because she was an infant; I did it out of self-preservation; she wasn't my friend when it happened… …and…. Alright."

That, too, was an unexpected answer. Kochai gasped, softly, but otherwise kept silent, waiting for the li-tigon to began. When he spoke, it was in a soft, somber tone—a thoughtful tone.

"You're young, but you've been through a lot, and you'll have to go through a lot more before you find peace in your life. There are things you need to hear and understand—things that most other cubs—most other _beings_—never will. First, let me be clear," Freak said, "I am not going to tell you everything about everything—this isn't negotiable. There are, after all, some things… many things… that I've experienced, and done… that no one needs to hear."

A pause.

"But I won't tell you any lies. I won't… lighten what I've done, or darken what my enemies have done. I'll tell you the truth; or, at least, the truth as I see it. If that's good enough…" his voice trailed off.

Kochai nodded, solemnly. For once, she wasn't smiling—and, strangely, that comforted Freak; it told him that she had the ability to be serious, when prudent. So, the li-tigon paused again, took in a deep breath, and let it out slowly, before speaking, again.

"Alright, then, Kochai… this is the story of my life. This is my story… the story of the freak."

* * *

You've read it. You know. It's not a lullaby; it's not something you want to put a kid to sleep to.

It turned out to be, though, what Kochai fell asleep to that night, just as the moon started to rise and a blanket of stars coated the sky, almost unseen by a thick layer of smog and pollution and noise.

The building they were in had two windows; one faced to the west, one to the south—if Freak were to rear up to his hind legs, setting his forepaws on the dusty, cracked windowsill, he would have gotten a striking view of the Ganges River at sunset. Now, though, he just looked to the right, watching, with a strange sense of tranquility, as the Sun began to kiss the horizon.

At some point in his story—he hadn't noticed it happening at all—Kochai had circled around in front of him and rested in front of his chest. His forelegs had wrapped around her, protectively, so that now, the tigress kitten was curled up, sleeping deeply, smiling to herself, totally relaxed.

Freak stretched, for a moment, without moving much—then he got up, slowly, so as to not disturb Kochai. He yawned, widely, and then paused, thinking—there were many things that had to be done, and soon.

_"If we haven't been bothered yet… it's quite likely that we won't be noticed this entire visit. Regardless…"_

Freak was outside, by now, looking around for something. He walked to a nearby bush, severed it at the base with a precision bite, then carried it, and placed it in the simple, cement hut's doorway. Using a paw to rub his face, for a second, he nodded—the plant was covered in thorns, and would offer a good deterrence to forced entry, at least for a moment—if something did come, Kochai would have that many more seconds to escape.

She'd be asleep for another few hours at least, Freak knew, and even if she awoke, she'd either wait for him where she was, or trek up to the rendezvous point—after all, he'd explicitly told her, earlier in the day, that if they were ever separated, either go back to where they'd last been together, if possible; and, if not, head to another preset location and wait.

Freak glanced over his shoulder at her, for a second, before leaving, heading away from the river. Things were going surprisingly well—their shelter was only about a hundred yards from the shore, and they'd easily be able to see anything that passed, including their ship. Perfect.

So, now, the li-tigon's main objectives were existential: food, and water. A brief foray into the rough, sloping forests outside of city limits suggested that the former would be easily found—within fifteen or twenty minutes of searching, Freak not only came across several game and scent trails, but sighted one or two deer.

Water, though, was the problem.

At night, to be sure, Freak would check the major river in the city, to see if it was safe to drink; but he strongly doubted it. Earlier, he'd seen several rotting bovine carcasses floating downstream, and the smell coming off the river itself wasn't overpowering… but it certainly cast a doubtful shadow over the li-tigon's mind.

Surely, though, there was water elsewhere. After all, humans had to drink—this Freak knew. To be fair, he hadn't exactly seen any humans more than a mile out of city limits, or so—and even then, they were usually just children playing. He hadn't found anyone searching for water, so he had to assume that they had some stable source of it, somewhere—and, in time, with patience, the li-tigon would find it. He was sure of it.

* * *

"_Those_ are our orders?"

"Well, yes," Eton said. "Don't be so upset. It'll be a nice change from the status quo."

"B-but this is ridiculous!... I have a better idea for a mission; it's more likely to be successful."

"Well… alright, let's hear it."

"I submit that we search for a needle in a haystack in a coalmine."

"Funny," Eton replied, "but I'm being serious."

There was a pause. The eight other dogs that had gathered, abandoning their posts, temporarily, fell silent—Eton wasn't joking… things, then, must have been a _lot_ worse than what they were perceived to be.

"No lie?"

"No lie."

"So… run this by me again," the shrewd, somewhat obnoxious young male said. "We're supposed to reconnoiter in the southeast… looking for big cats—tigers?"

"That' it," Eton said. "Any questions?"

"Yeah, yeah, question, question…"

"What are we supposed to do if we find one?"

* * *

She woke up alone, and, for a moment, she was a little startled, a little concerned. But despite her age, or lack thereof, she wasn't too fussed after a moment or two.

Standing up, yawning widely, Kochai glanced outside—it was late, perhaps ten o'clock at night. Freak was nowhere to be seen, and, judging by the scent trail he'd left behind, he hadn't been around for a few hours.

_"Big brother is probably getting something nice for me to eat, right now. So… I'll do as he said… even though I would like nothing more than to go exploring right now!... I am sure that no one is out; no one will notice me, I am very small, I might as well—no! No. I have to listen to big brother. If I leave, he'll be disappointed. But… it's so boring here!"_

Kochai paced, for a moment, searching for something to do.

She was unsuccessful.

Sighing, the kitten slumped over, licking her paws for a moment. Her options were severely limited; the four walls of the house she was in didn't exactly allow for a great deal of motion…

"Not much room…"

Kochai sat up, as an idea started to take hold in her mind.

"It has been some time since anyone has trained with me. I will lose my edge if I go without practice much longer. When big brother returns, I'll ask him for some suggestions. Until then," the kitten said, before extending her claws in a flash, smiling sweetly, "I am on my own."

There was little noise and little discernable disturbance of the air as Kochai sprung into action, slashing at unseen enemies, dodging and blocking their attacks, springing off of walls and even the ceiling when necessary, jumping up onto the storage platform a full six feet off the ground to give her leg muscles power workouts.

Totally focused on her practice, she was sweating within minutes, listening only to the dull beat of her heart in her chest. The abandoned shack she was in was surprisingly secure, but, of course, such security could easily, easily be completely, totally, utterly, false…

"Sh, sh… wait…"

They were traveling in a rough phalanx formation, with a one or two yard spread. Such a tactic was good in that it offered the ability to both attack and defend without a second's notice—and, of course, it was ideal for balancing stealth with the safety of numbers with the ability to notice as much as possible.

At Eton's word, though, they all complied, and froze. Trotting along at a respectable rate, they'd made good time over the past few hours, and signs were mixed—on the one hand, there was, to be sure, a lack of dog and human activity. On the other, though, the nearest food sources robust enough to support a big cat were several miles away, in the forest—if there was a big cat in the vicinity, what were the odds he or she would stay near the city? What was there to be gained by staying so close to a congregation of apex predators' most deadly and determined of enemies?

And yet…

Yet…

Stray dogs had evolved over the generations to scratch life out of the city; off the refuse and the trash and the occasional appreciation and even generosity of humans. Their bodies and skill sets reflected that—invariably, they were rail thin yet muscled, sharp-eyed, owners of conservative, slow metabolisms, and short yet viciously sharp and powerful teeth. They were built for explosively short fights at any time at any location, provided that it was in the city—that is, at close range.

As such, they weren't naturally gifted with eyesight that was of any use at long distance.

Still, though—maybe—_maybe_—bah. No. No luck.

"Hey," Eton whispered, "the rest of you… are you smelling it, too? Just nod or shake your heads…"

He looked over his shoulder, and, indeed, saw the many gestures of affirmation. Turning back forward, Eton thought for a moment. He and his subordinates held the high ground that preceded the old, abandoned southeastern quadrant of the city; they were peering down at it from a gradual cliff. At first glance, one might think that nothing, nothing at all, was unusual or strange.

However, the dogs didn't use their eyes at this distance—they used their noses. And their powerful senses of scent were all tingling, just then, telling them that there was certainly a feline below, somewhere—and it wasn't a domesticated housecat. Probably.

"Alright," Eton said, "from now on, we won't speak. Paw signals only—understood?"

The group nodded, saluting briefly—then, they waited for new orders. Eton paused, for a second, before holding a fisted paw parallel to the ground, then outstretching his digits and moving his appendage in a slight arc—spread out and advance.

Descending the cliff without making any noise was difficult and slow going, but certainly possible—and the fact that the scent of the feline had grown stronger suggested that they hadn't been noticed. Perfect.

They were slinking through the streets, now, alert, ready for action. This wasn't a very safe part of town at _all_; though there was no known rival gang activity and no real human presence, it was commonly accepted that the outskirts were where "shady" business transactions went down. Rumors even suggested that a deal between a… goatherd, really, and a mysterious, _powerful_ figure had involved loyalty… and a _massive_ shipment of stolen arms. For the most part, figures unscrupulous enough to go around here meant no harm to dogs—but, sometimes, there were those who wanted to take _no_ chances.

The city was absolutely huge, and this particular chunk of it was nothing to sneeze at, either. The dogs had silently picked their way through several hundred yards of broken, crumbling buildings and several likely snake and lizard hideouts without incident, but their luck couldn't last forever. The fur on the back of Eton's neck was tingling—he wanted to leave as soon as possible… and yet, he _had_ to find the source of this scent…

Eton held up a fisted paw; this time, it was perpendicular to the ground. After his subordinates stopped in their tracks, he held up one digit, and made a few brief circles with it: rally up.

After they converged, he spoke in a _very_ quiet town, mostly to the ground, so his voice wouldn't be likely to reach anyone it wasn't meant to.

"You two, stay here, so that nothing nasty sneaks up on us," he murmured, nodding at a pair of identical twins with white splotched necks. "The rest… let's hug the edge of the buildings, near the shoreline. Stay on your toes; watch out for enemy presence, snakes, lizards, and unfriendly humans. I think we're heading farther southeast… if anyone sees what we're looking for, they should signal a halt, and we should all take cover. We're only here to reconnoiter, remember."

There was a general nod of assent. So, after another moment, Eton and his pack moved out again, minus the two he'd allocated to stay behind. They gradually made their way to the left until they were buffered from the sudden shoreline by only fences or a few yards of space. Picking their way through the dystopian habitat, they couldn't help but realize that their noses were leading them on ever more surely.

Eton was still leading. After about two hundred yards, though, he slowed down, then held up an unfisted paw—hold up. He looked ahead, far ahead, then sighed to himself. At such a distance, his vision gave him little more than a dull blur—he couldn't see a thing.

He held up two digits, then pointed off to the right. Instantly, the two strays in the rightmost part of the formation broke off and moved, silently, to the right, taking cover next to an old fruit stand, looking back at him for further orders. Eton formed his paw into a knife-like shape, then jabbed forward, twice, directly where he was looking—eyes forward.

With his left paw, now, Eton made a wide, sweeping motion—peel left, move up. After the rest of the pack did so, he took the lead again, held up an unfisted paw perpendicular to the ground, then lowered it so that it was parallel—get down.

Perfect—now, everyone was well hidden and positioned to defend, if need be. So, Eton could take a slight risk and move in for a closer look...

Tensely, he moved past his subordinates, making sure that he was in sight of at least one of them at all times—just in case. Now, even the abandoned houses were thinning out as the terrain grew rocky, rough, unwelcoming—but, ahead, there was an old, abandoned hut, or shack, or something—and that was exactly where the feline's scent, if his nose was telling the truth, was coming from.

Eton didn't dare get closer than a hundred yards; he didn't dare hop over an old, barbed-wire fence intertwined with grasses and thick plantlife—doing so was akin to inviting an attack. He peeked his head through, though, slightly, and used all of his senses to their fullest degree…

Then, he nodded to himself, and pulled back, still keeping his eyes on the building ahead of him, until he was with his pack again. Making the signal to group up and pull back, he didn't lower his guard until they were out of the old section of the city.

"Did you see it, E?" one of his comrades asked, curious. "Is there really a big cat here, in the city?"

The pack leader looked away, for a moment. Aside from the constant din of the city, emanating specifically from its famous red light districts and their night lives across the river, and the soft, rhythmic pulse of waves breaking on the shore, it was relatively quiet, save for the practical whir of all the little cogs in Eton's mind working.

"I'm not… _entirely_ certain," he said, finally. "It's been a very, _very_ long time since I've scented a big cat for sure. But it's hard for me to imagine what else it could be… and I did see… something," Eton admitted, "something… that's all."

"Regardless… we've done our job. It's time to get home and tell Atlas… he's our leader, after all. He'll know what to do."

"Man, I hope so," one of the strays said as they fell in behind Eton, "because if he can't figure out how to turn things around, and fast… this year won't be a good one for us. At all."

* * *

_"I've certainly learned a lot,"_ Freak thought to himself, sarcastically, _"a lot of nothing…"_

_"…That's not entirely true. I'm certain that the humans get water from _inside_ their homes—that doesn't do me any good, because breaking in to a house is a good way to get overwhelmed and killed, or, at least, run out of the city. I need another way to get water, and soon… I haven't drank anything since morning; I'm very thirsty…"_

At least Kochai would be all right, the li-tigon reflected; the bodies of younger felines conserved water far more efficiently than his did. Still, he needed water, and he needed it soon.

Maybe it was time to take a little risk

A half-hour later, Freak was dragging along a freshly slain deer. He'd eaten the most perishable parts of it, but that was all; he wasn't particularly hungry. Kochai, however, was, and, after all, they needed to find a way to somehow preserve meat for their trip—this carcass could give them much-needed practice.

He was just entering the dilapidated, abandoned section of town when he paused, and set his kill down. About a yard in front of him was a stream of slowly trickling water—it wasn't crystal clear and quickly moving, as ideal drinking water was, but still… it was probably… _probably_ safe.

Freak had lived through countless thousands of words of the worst attacks the Lion Sheikh can conceive. So, even given the relatively slim possibility that he might be poisoned by this water… he wasn't going to die. Probably.

The li-tigon was rationalizing, and he knew it—the second he'd come across that water, he knew he was going to drink it. It wasn't putrid or otherwise blatantly undrinkable, so thirst drove him to make a decision that was less than ideal.

He crouched in front of the stream, and, within a moment, had lapped up just enough water to take the edge off his thirst, and no more—but after a pause, he decided to sate the needs of his body for a little longer than was absolutely necessary, and drank another few fluid ounces. After all, he felt perfectly fine—this water wasn't poisoned. No way.

Standing, feeling satisfied with himself, Freak retrieved his kill and made his way into town. He walked down the street almost grandly—he felt good, for some reason, very good. Smiling as he carried the deer in his jaws, the li-tigon felt a bizarre urge—he wanted to sing, to dance, to announce to the world just how great his life was.

Giddily, Freak walked directly through the perimeter defense he'd set up. The noise of his entry woke Kochai up instantly—she stood with a gasp of surprise, but relaxed as she saw that it was just Freak. Then, though, the kitten blinked, and canted her head.

"Wh… whazzamatter, Kochai?" Freak asked, before pausing, and blinking, several times—as he recalled, Kochai's fur was white with blank stripes, not tie-dyed. And since when did she shapeshift in that ridiculous manner? When had she grown _wings_, for that matter? "Heheh… heheheheheh… whatchu lookin' at… it's just me… heheheh…"

"Big brother?" she asked, after a moment. "Are you… feeling alright?"

"Mm? Oh, yeah, Hell yeah," Freak said. "I just feel like walking on my forepaws, y'know?"

Kochai had never, _ever_ seen or imagined that a big cat could do an accurate approximation of such a human action. She was seriously confused, now, and a little scared—as she looked into Freak's eyes, she could see his pupils dilating strangely. Something was up.

"Oh, I understand, big brother," the kitten said, managing to smile, brushing aside her worry for a moment. "Why are you feeling so good? Did you eat or drink anything nice? A good meal always makes me very happy."

She was good—this question didn't _sound_ interrogatory, but its purpose was just that.

"Oh yeah, oh yeah," Freak said, falling down with a thud, "I drank some realllllllllllllllllll good water. Heheheh… hey, let's play tag, Kochai… I'm it!"

The li-tigon dropped down, and despite his state of mind, Kochai was worried—he was still big and strong and fast and built to kill, and the look in his eye was unsettlingly predatory. And yet…

"Okay, big brother," the kitten smiled, "just… let me prepare, please. Just a moment…" Kochai backed up, looking behind her, and positioned herself a clear inch from the wall. "Okay, big brother. Any time you're ready."

_"I hope this works… and I hope he doesn't get hurt very badly…"_

"A'right, Kochai… ready… set… go!"

Freak lunged, moving in for an all-out pounce. Kochai managed to dive to the side, though, and in his state, Freak had neither the presence of mind to change direction or somehow stop. He sailed on, through the air, before he met the wall—headfirst.

The entire building shook, but Freak dropped, unconscious. As the dust settled, Kochai moved in, wary, for a moment—but after checking the li-tigon's vitals, she was satisfied that he wasn't seriously injured. He might have a nasty bump on his head for a few days, but that was all.

_"Okay… big brother is sick. I don't know exactly how… he said he drank some water, so I suppose that it wasn't clean. That's all right, all he has to do is drink clean water for a few days. I can give him some medicinal plants to speed things up—oh no…"_

"There is no clean water here that I know of, and I have not seen any useful plants for some time…"

In an instant, Kochai's optimism had changed into dejectedness. Freak was out cold and would remain so for some time—and when he awoke, he'd probably be sick; he had the classic symptoms of drinking bad water. At least Kochai wouldn't go to sleep on an empty stomach, but that was of little comfort. As she knelt next to the deer and began to feed, the young tigress wondered… would they really be able to survive in the city until the ship came? And when it did… would they really be able to survive the journey to the Land of the Spirits?

* * *

Though not even the most friendly, tolerant humans could offer their canine friends food, they could, and did, routinely offer water and shelter in exchange for companionship and some security. It was a symbiotic relationship, and one that allowed Atlas and Eton to meet outside a juice bar after hours. They were standing side by side, drinking water from cheap plastic bowls—life was still hard for strays, of course, but their lots were better than those of their forefathers. At least these days, the humans had clean water provided to them by their government and market, and enough of it to share.

"So, let me get this straight…" the older dog said, after a moment, "you are 99% certain that you scented a big cat, and that slight margin of error exists because you can't crosscheck what you smelled. You saw, or thought you saw… say it again?"

"Either a very, very, very large housecat," Eton replied, "or a very, very small and strangely colored tiger."

"It was alone?"

"I think so. I didn't get close, of course… but… I do _think_ that I smelled another cat. I can't be certain, and I certainly didn't see another one."

"Mm."

"All in all, a delicate situation."

"Very true, very true," Atlas murmured.

"We live longer than felines," the leader said, after a moment of thought. "Much longer, in fact. The Non-Aggression Pact we made… well, it was created in a different time, in a different world; it's almost out of living memory."

"Yes," Eton said, before pausing, feeling a bizarre chill, "but what's your point, Atlas? Surely you're not—"

"Some ends justify some means," the leader shrugged, "and there's no purpose in being a moralistically flawless being if you end up getting your entire family killed for it."

"So, you're saying…"

"That's right," Atlas said, turning to fix an incredibly cold, pragmatic gaze on his subcommander. "We're going to _break_ the Pact."

"That's… a bold maneuver."

"The times call for such maneuvers."

"No," Eton shook his head, "what I'm saying is that we don't know enough to really, definitively act—not yet. I assume you want to turn the big cat, or cats, in, right? Gain trust, respect, maybe funding as a sort of security force?"

"Could be," Atlas said, "I can't say for sure what we might get by handing them over to the humans. All I know is that they'll appreciate it."

"Which is better than nothing," Eton agreed, "but we still don't know—for instance, why is there a big cat presence _in the city_, after so many years of absence?"

Atlas was silent.

"Maybe we can offer _them_ something—maybe they can give us something in return, even more valuable than what the humans can. Who knows?... I don't care if we end up breaking the Pact," Eton shrugged, lying through his teeth, "but we shouldn't do so hastily. Let's calm down… we don't have the time or manpower to set up a distant sentry like that; it's an invitation to attack. What we should do—I'm saying, me, you, perhaps a few others… hear me out on this. But we should talk to the cats."

Atlas didn't react to that. His expression was unreadable, and when he spoke, it was in an utterly flat, though slightly intrigued tone.

"Go on."

"We can barter for food, somehow—even if we're not successful, we can threaten to turn them in. After all, they must be here for a good reason, right? Otherwise, they'd just be in the jungle; city life is risky for their kind, and we know for a fact that cats are _not_ going to be encroaching further towards human territory due to overpopulation."

It was true. Even among strays, it was a well-known fact that big cat numbers had plummeted in the last few generations.

"What if you're wrong?" Atlas said. "What if they're just passing through, or sating their curiosity, or what have you? Unless we go in nearly full strength—which isn't an option—they could kill us all easily, and be gone before anyone even notices, much less has a chance to react."

Eton didn't answer. He just looked at his leader for a moment; the purposeful, stubborn look in his eyes told Atlas all he needed to know.

"You're serious."

"It isn't ideal," Eton admitted, "but it is possible. And Atlas—if it means that our pack has a better chance of living, thriving… you won't say no. At least… you'll allow me to go. Alone, if no one volunteers."

"I should killed you for this," Atlas growled—for a crazy second, Eton felt legitimately concerned; had he gone too far?

"Unfortunately, there are JKT agreements and traditions to be considered; execution for something like this is unacceptable. So, yes, Eton," he said grudgingly, "we'll both go to talk to the cats. But if things go bad… well, let's just say that the Non-Aggression Pact isn't the only… stupid, obsolete tradition that will be…. Broken."

* * *

Freak awoke with a splitting headache, but that wasn't all. He felt horribly, dangerously ill; his stomach churned and he couldn't help but groan as he attempted to stand on trembling, quavering legs.

He was unsuccessful.

Slumping over messily, the li-tigon struggled to remember where he was, what he was doing. A few blurred images eventually pieced themselves together in his mind—the last thing he recalled was heading back to Kochai, with a fresh kill… he'd stopped to drink some water… and from then on out, his memory was blank.

_"A thousand curses,"_ he thought. _"Just my luck… the water must have caused this. I'm going to be sick for at least… a day, I think… …where's Kochai?"_

Freak forced his eyes to focus, just a little, as he looked around. It seemed that his hearing was muffled, and, after a moment of pressing his senses to work properly, he realized that Kochai was, in fact, within a few feet of him, and trying to get his attention.

"Big brother? Big brother?" she said repeatedly, patiently, yet worried. "Please tell me if you can hear me, yes, big brother?"

"H… hello… Kochai," Freak managed to groan, "I… hear you…"

"Oh, thank God," the tigress kitten said, instantly relieved. "I am so glad to see you are awake. You're still feeling bad, yes, big brother? I'm sorry… but I don't know what I can do," she admitted—she didn't yet have the tact, perhaps, to take into account the fact that she might have done Freak a few favors by giving him a minute or so to get his bearings again. "I do not know where to get clean water, or any medicinal plants… I think that it would maybe be best to let whatever you have… run its course."

The li-tigon tried to answer, ended up mrowling, moaning, incoherently, and simply nodded, shutting his eyes. He needed many things, just then, but out of them, he could only have rest, it seemed. So, hoping that Kochai would understand, he curled up, a little… then paused, opened an eye at her, and nodded at the space in front of him invitingly.

She was, of course, only too happy to accept. But even as Kochai pressed herself against the li-tigon's warm, powerful form, she couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding. In this building, this simple shack, they were grievously, desperately vulnerable. Freak couldn't run, couldn't fight—and she was just a cub, still, and, therefore, helpless on her own. If something happened… their chances for even mere survival were not high.

* * *

"Everyone's been given the appropriate orders," Atlas sighed, "so… let's go."

Eton nodded, and followed his leader closely, eyes alert. It wasn't often that the aging stray left the safety of JKT's inner territories—he wasn't the fighter he had once been, and, therefore, a great target for enemy packs. Taking out Atlas would cripple the JKTs greatly, and in such desperate times, might even end up destroying the pack, and many of its members.

It was, of course, relatively unlikely that an enemy pack had managed to place an assassin, or even a spotter, in a position that would put Atlas in any significant danger then. Investigating the southeast quadrant of the city was unprecedented—sending the notorious JKT leader out with _one_ bodyguard was beyond that.

"You know, back when I was a cub, things weren't like this," he said. "Sure, life was tough, but life was _certain_. It's a changing world, Eton—and never forget that. Whoever succeeds me as leader won't have to be the best at any one thing, in any one way—JKT needs a leader that can respond, react, and manage a variety of overlapping problems and issues that are unprecedented. We need a leader that's always ready to deal with a crisis, or what might be a crisis."

"I agree," the younger stray said, as they picked their way down the hill, nearing the abandoned part of their hometown. "We need someone that leads by example, not with an iron fist or a closed mind. We can't have a reactionary, or someone that can't give up tradition, when necessary—we need someone that will respect our values and principles… except in the gravest of circumstances."

Atlas just grunted, noncommittally, and Eton took that as an order to shut up. After all, they were within the general area of the felines, now, and silence would pay off, bigtime.

Suddenly, though the stray leader grinned, rather audibly. Rolling his eyes, he turned to Eton halfway and spoke in a scoffing, yet very impressed tone.

"Are you seriously this blind? Perhaps I've made a mistake in my analysis. Perhaps I should rethink my decision."

Eton was, understandably, confused. So he waited, for a moment, before speaking in a tentative, curious tone—he made sure, of course, that he was paying attention to his surroundings.

"I'm… not sure I know what you're talking about, Atlas. Have I done something wrong?"

"No!" the leader said, loudly, before laughing. "I'm talking about _you_! You're my successor. Don't worry, I've gone through all the formalities. Everyone approves… you're the leader, effective when I die or resign. I suppose now's not the best time to tell you this," Atlas mentioned, rubbing his chin with a thoughtful digit. "This gives you a very interesting conflict of interest, just now."

For a moment, Eton was speechless.

"You're… serious?"

"Oh yes, oh yes," the older stray said gravely. "There's no dodging this one, my friend. Like it or not, the burden of leading the JKT pack is—or, rather, will be—on your shoulders. It's a tough job," Atlas shrugged, before smiling, "but, in my opinion, it's worth it."

Some would have spoken, then, detailing their gratitude, making promises, but, most of all, forgetting where they were, what they were doing. Not Eton, however. He just stowed his excitement, professionally, nodded, and gruffly said, "I'll find that out for myself someday, Atlas. Until then… let's focus on the task at hand. We can't get too distracted right now."

"Spoken like a true leader," the JKT leader said. "Now, let's see if our little city really is home to apex predators."

* * *

There was still plenty of meat left, so food was probably the one thing that Kochai and Freak didn't have to worry about.

Their other major problem, though, hadn't been solved. They still needed to find a way to pack food and water for the trip to the Land of the Spirits, and with Freak still quite sick from water poisoning, it would probably be some time before the li-tigon could address that issue properly.

Just then, though, neither feline was really worrying about their situation. It served no purpose—they had no use for an excess of stress, and instead, decided to nap now, while they could. Kochai had managed to get the li-tigon to eat at least a few bites of dear; he'd need _some_ energy to fight off whatever bacteria his body was fighting, after all. Apart from that, though, the tigress had nothing to do.

Rather than goof off or lay around, though, she showed a surprising amount of discipline and responsibility—she went out for patrols, despite Freak's protests, and spent a great deal of time licking his kill, coating it with her antiseptic saliva. It wasn't a glamorous solution, but it worked… albeit not well enough to be used to preserve food for the long, ship voyage to the Land of the Spirits.

Kochai was splayed out directly on top of the li-tigon, lightly dozing. Her chin was on her forepaws, upraised from his chest by a few inches, giving her a slight vantage point—not that it did much good. It was, after all, her nose that woke her up.

The kitten neither stretched nor yawned as she stood. Nose twitching insistently, she looked this way, then that, then ducked, peering over Freak's form—they were safe… for the moment.

"Big brother… wake up," she whispered, still peering outside, "please, please, wake up…" She started to bat at him with her paw, headbutting him several times—this was, after all, an emergency.

Eventually, Freak responded, and opened an eye. He moaned before speaking in a low, laborious tone.

"What is it, Kochai…" he murmured. "Why did you get me up… I was having a nice dream…"

"Were you really, big brother?" the tigress asked. "Please, tell me about it, yes—I mean, it's an emergency. There are dogs coming… not so many of them, I think. But they're coming directly this way, big brother."

"Did you see them?" the li-tigon asked, attempting to stand.

"No," Kochai replied, "I smelled them. I did not want to go outside—they might have set up a spotter."

"Good girl," Freak said, as approvingly as he could. "Smart. How much time do you think we have until they get here?"

"Not very long. A few moments…"

"That'll do. Now…" the li-tigon rasped, "get up there, and hide, understood? Don't come out until it's safe or necessary to do so."

Kochai nodded, and, after peering up and adjusting her position, leaped up into the storage area, a simple series of thin logs supported by metal girders. She ducked behind an old jute sack, shifted until she could see what was going on a little better, then stopped moving.

Calmly, Freak stepped outside. He certainly wasn't feeling his best, but for at least a few minutes, he'd be able to stand, walk, and, if need be, fight or run. Wind ruffled the li-tigon's mane, a little, and carried with it, indeed, the scent of two approaching strays.

And then, a second later, they came into view.

They were walking side by side, perhaps a yard or so apart. Traveling slowly so as to appear less threatening, Freak could see their eyes flit from him to the shack behind him, to the surrounding area—they were preparing to run, just in case he attacked.

The li-tigon kept his face blank and expressionless, even as a thousand thoughts crossed through his mind every second. Who were these dogs, what did they want, why were there only two of them visible; if there were more, where were they, and, most importantly, just how big of a threat to him and Kochai did they pose?

Freak found that merely standing didn't take a great deal of effort—that was lucky. Displaying his sickness was a form of weakness—it might embolden the dogs to do things they might otherwise not dare to.

Now, they were only about ten yards away—they'd spread out, a little, and now were on opposite sides of the street that led to Freak's shack. Freak shook dust kicked up by breeze caused by the nearby river, for a second, then looked, curiously, from the older dog to the younger one. They were trying to figure things out still, obviously—he couldn't blame them, but they were the ones that had approached him. If they had anything to say, Freak thought, they'd say it, and soon.

As it turned out, it was Atlas that spoke first, in a calm, cordial tone, meeting Freak's eyes the entire time.

"On behalf of my pack, the JKT, and all other dogs who find their homes on the coast of the Ganges, the most powerful river in Hindustan… welcome, stranger. Welcome to our city."

Choosing his words carefully, Freak proceeded to respond. He remembered what he'd learned about etiquette in this part of the world from Nasher and Raj, and knew that cutting to the chase wasn't wise.

"I respectfully and humbly accept your welcome, kind sir. Please allow me to introduce myself—my name is—Scar. I am… a visitor to your city."

_"And Hindustan,"_ Freak thought, but didn't say—information, after all, was a valuable commodity. Instead, he waited for the dog to respond, and now that he'd given his name, the ball was in the stray's court, so to speak.

_"A visitor, eh…"_ Atlas thought to himself, examining every inch of the cat in front of him—he could tell that Freak wasn't a tiger, of course, but didn't voice it. Not yet, anyway.

"I am the leader of my pack, the JKT… my name is Atlas. Scar, eh?... you should be aware of some of the… hazards… in this city. Water…" the stray leader shook his head, "isn't good to drink, unless you know what you're doing."

Did Freak detect a hint of humor in the stray's voice? After all, though he was doing what he could to hide his dizziness and general lack of health, he felt certain that something about him—the way he stood, the way he blinked excessively to try to control the way his eyes seemed to become unfocused all to quickly, or perhaps some subtle tinge to his scent that the dog's powerful nose could detect—made it clear that he wasn't feeling his best.

"Your advice is appreciated," Freak replied flawlessly, "as is your concern."

A pause.

Then, the li-tigon's lip twitched. Careful, beating-around-the-bush negotiation was _not_ his forte.

"Tell me," he said, not quite forcefully, but assertively, "what are you doing here? You came directly to me, though this part of the city isn't your pack's territory. Why?"

Atlas took a moment to answer; it wasn't that he didn't know exactly what to say, he was just considering how to say it. From what he could tell, Freak wasn't going to do anything rash—perhaps, though, meeting force with force wasn't a good idea at that point.

"Simple," Atlas replied, "you're a big cat. Now, let me explain what that means."

A pause.

"Your kind haven't been in or near the city for a very, _very_ long time. Many of your generations, in fact. And we dogs know that hunters and poachers are taking a heavy toll on your numbers—so, you see, it's something of a surprise, a treat, to see a living big cat in the flesh," the leader said, somewhat proudly.

"That's all?" the li-tigon asked. "You came here to see me… literally. That's it?"

This time, it was Eton that spoke up. Unlike many would have, he didn't dig at the ground with a paw, didn't look away—he remained assertive yet respectful, just like Atlas.

"We wish to barter with you," the younger stray said. "We can offer many things… but we're only interested in food. Meat… are you interested in trading?"

Freak was silent for a moment. Then, he backed into his shack, disappearing for a moment, before reappearing, pulling out what remained of the deer he'd killed two days before. As he did, he paid careful attention to the strays' body language—and he was glad that he did. Though they hid it well, or tried to, there was no denying that they were _extremely_ interested in what he had to offer. Freak, it seemed, had major leverage.

"There's still a few pounds of good meat left on it," the li-tigon said, "and if you need more, I can get it… in a day or so. For now… this is enough."

It wasn't a question.

Atlas and Eton both nodded, still hiding their relief well.

"So… a half-eaten, days-old deer. For this, we can't give you much."

"Acceptable," Freak shrugged. "All I want is water—clean, drinkable water, or knowledge of how to get it—and your word that you'll keep my existence secret. That means, no telling the humans, no telling other packs, or other animals at all. Is that agreeable to you?"

The strays shared a glance, then looked back to Freak. Nodded.

"We'll be back later with the water. Expect two gallons… no more. For now."

"All right," Freak said, "so…"

He pushed the carcass forward with a paw, several yards. Then, he stood his ground, and waited for the strays to come and take it. The li-tigon wanted to see just how scared of him they were, because fear was respect—however, if they feared him too much, or too little, they might decide that it was best to go to the humans.

Freak kept his appearance relaxed, passive; his claws were sheathed and his muscles were unclenched. Still, though, it took Eton a few seconds to pause, before slowly, carefully stalking forward, taking the carcass in his jaws, and pulling it backwards, always keeping his eyes on the li-tigon.

"Later?" Freak asked, once Eton had pulled the carcass away to a safe distance.

"Later," Atlas affirmed. "And we'll look forward to more meat two days from now…?"

"I'll see what can be done," the li-tigon shrugged. "It depends on the quality of the water you provide, of course… among other things."

The strays knew better than to meddle. They just nodded, and were about to leave, when Atlas took a risk—a calculated risk, of course.

"I assume you'll be here for some time, Scar?"

"Not too long," Freak replied curtly—the deal had been made. What was the stray leader doing? What did he hope to accomplish?

"Regardless," Atlas said, waving a paw dismissively, "you'll be here long enough, I hope, to create a… mutually profitable relationship with JKT, right?"

"That depends on your definition of a mutually profitable relationship," Freak said coldly. The old, instinctive mistrust that he'd largely suppressed over the past months was rearing its ugly head again—the li-tigon felt the fur on the back of his neck stand on end, as well as the almost irresistible temptation to extend his claws.

"Not a friendship," the stray said coolly, "but an alliance, of sorts. We both need each another, yes? So, our part in this relationship will be to keep our ears open for anything that could affect you. Your part will be, of course, to provide meat… and, also, to inform us of enemy pack movement. When you can."

_"That doesn't sound like much,"_ Freak thought, _"and I don't see how lying would benefit him…"_

"Alright," the li-tigon nodded, "Atlas… we'll be allies. For some time."

"Yes," the stray leader said, raising a paw in farewell, before helping Eton carry off the kill, "for some time."

* * *

Freak only allowed himself to stumble back inside when he saw the strays climb up the gradual hill that led to the old section of the city. Though he certainly didn't feel up to strenuous physical activity, he was surprised to note that he did feel a good deal better than he had mere hours ago.

Looking up, taking a second to shake the dust out of his fur and mane, the li-tigon said, "Alright, Kochai… come down."

She complied instantly, but, thankfully, didn't pounce on Freak. Rather, she gracefully landed in front of him, and peeked out a window, watching as the strays vanished into their pack's territory.

"Good job, big brother! Your negotiations skills are very good. Perhaps, some day, you shall be your homeland's foreign ambassador, yes?"

"Somehow, I doubt that," Freak rolled his eyes, grinning, despite himself. "I'm not really cut out for politics. That's what beings like my cousin and his family exist for."

"You can never know for sure, yes?" Kochai said. "Perhaps in your later years, or something like that. Until then, I think that you will be… a warrior when necessary. But otherwise, I think that you will be a family man, big brother."

"We'll find out someday," Freak shrugged, "someday. And what about, Kochai? What do you think your fate is, in my homeland?"

"I am going to live with the lionesses, of course, and have lots and lots of fun," she said, sighing in anticipation. "Perhaps, I will sometimes go off on my own. But I like being around other people. It's more fun, and it will give me more opportunities to nap."

"You're going to fit in," the li-tigon mentioned, as he slumped over again. "I'm still not feeling very well, Kochai… why don't you keep a lookout, and wake me up when the dogs come back?"

"Of course, big brother," she replied, snapping off a sharp salute. "I will be very observant, nothing will distract me. Nothing at all."

* * *

The second meeting with the strays went smoothly. In fact, it went so smoothly that Freak introduced Kochai—it wasn't exactly a smart decision, but still. If the JKT pack was in an alliance with him, they had a reason to know whose company he was keeping.

As the days wore on, Freak and Kochai found that they had a great deal of time—hunting around the city was almost _too_ easy, and that meant that they had an excess of meat. Of course, the JKT appreciated that; the dogs were fatter than they'd _ever_ been this time of year—their enemies couldn't figure out the source of their prosperity, and, of course, didn't dare attack the clan. In fact, for the first time in a few years, JKT felt certain that it hadn't been stretched too thin—their pups weren't even up for adoption, anymore.

They delivered water daily, and brought meat back to their territory on the return trip. Apart from exercising, Freak and Kochai spent a _lot_ of time and effort trying to find out how to preserve meat. They ran experiments with control groups; they tested a variety of methods… but none worked; at least, none worked well enough to be of any use on the trip.

Worry started to set in as the days wore on. Ships were always traversing the length of the Ganges, so Kochai and Freak had plenty of false alarms—and though they laughed, every time they realized that their ship had yet to arrive, they couldn't help but feel a chill—after all, they weren't ready for their trip. They could pack _some_ meat, but no water… it seemed that they'd be reduced to starving, for the most part, and drinking any fresh water that condensed on the ship, if possible.

One afternoon, just before sunset, after a full day of training and failed attempts at preserving meat, Freak was sitting, calmly, in his shack, meditating. Kochai was doing the same, or trying too—she was just too young to really, truly concentrate, but she was getting there quickly, under Freak's tutelage. Her thoughts were focused, mostly, on her parents, and Raj, and how much she missed them—but also how happy she was to have known them, and how much they'd helped her grow into what she had become. Apart from that, she found herself looking forward to the Land of the Spirits… if only she and Freak could get there. Tail lashing, a little, it was obvious she hadn't completely delved into lower consciousness, not yet—it also meant that she was the first to react, when—

* * *

(What I have planned next is not something I think you will foresee. Read Chapter 11 of My Name before continuing in Freak, I think… until next time, then, this is the Lion Sheikh of fanfiction… see you soon.)


	23. Long Journey Home

The Lion King: The Freak

Chapter 23: Long Journey Home

* * *

(This is not going to be a giant chapter. If you've been keeping up, you can deal with the violence below, and the limited use of foul language, as well. Now, on with the story!)

* * *

The Pride Lands is a vast, vast territory, sporting hundreds and hundreds of square miles of savannah, jungle, forest, desert, steppes; every sort of terrain one can imagine and more. Its owners number just enough to control such a massive region, so, for the most part, it's annoyingly empty—there simply aren't enough lions to put real life into the place.

Thus no longer held true with the arrival of the sadly low number of big cats that now found their home in the one place in the Land of the Spirits that stood a real chance of serving as a bastion against the surrounding evil that threatened to snuff all life out. Three Desert lionesses, two White Sand members, and a half-pride from the Eastern Jungle… though it can't be said that you couldn't throw a rock in the Pride Lands without hitting a lion, it could be said that you couldn't walk a mile without inviting an attack.

Roderik was a great help in completing the sanctification of the Pride Lands—in fact, the act was completed… just before Sarabi and Uvuli were missed.

As it turned out, the northeastern frontier of the Pride Lands wasn't included in the sanctification. However, due to their larger numbers, the lions were able to send a patrol out—Roderik, Simba, Akane, and two other Nomadic males—to find out what had gone wrong.

Of course, they found Sarabi's body. Simba, in fact, was the one that saw it first, and it's not prudent to imagine his reaction to the unexpected revelation that his mother was dead. The wound that had apparently killed her was strange to them; even Roderik could only speculate as to what had caused it.

At first, there had been a great deal of interest in pursuing whoever, or whatever, had killed the oldest matriarch. Simba, however, was the one that had reminded everyone that leaving the Pride Lands was suicidal, and would gain nothing.

So, really, there was little left to do but continue to patrol, keeping the borders of the territory secure, and wait. The food situation was fine—there was enough to go around, albeit with little leeway. Survival was guaranteed, but only in the short term. Keeping every lion in the Land of the Spirits in the Pride Lands was an unsustainable activity.

For the time being, everyone was safe. Who knew, though, how true that statement might be in a year, or six months, or a month, or even a week? There was little certainty in an existence like this, and the only one that could bring real certainty and security to the land was Freak.

* * *

The Spirits were able to do very few favors for those that lived, these days. It was only very rarely that they were able to send positive emotions—no more—to Simba, Aoi, or Roderik, those most in tune with the supernatural world.

This isn't to say they were powerless at all. It's just that they no longer had energy to spare—for some time, they'd been saving up. Freak needed help, and they planned to give it to him.

It wasn't exactly easy to yank someone, even someone with so much growing left to do, from the Land of the Spirits over thousands of miles of land and sea to a relatively precise destination. Chukizo and Scar were the ones that had selected who would be given to their son—they hadn't chosen a fighter, like Kovu or perhaps Kiara or Nala, due to the difficulties transporting such large beings would cause. They needed someone light yet deadly—someone completely loyal to Freak.

Once they'd fine-tuned their requirements, it wasn't at all hard to make the decision.

* * *

_Everyone that had lived or died in the Land of the Spirits in the past few generations was gathered above the Pride Lands. They'd been practicing and preparing for this moment for months—even Maisha wasn't her normal, playful self. Mufasa led the tricky procedure that would reunite two beings that hadn't seen one another for over a year by slowly, tentatively penetrating the ever-growing veil of evil that barred them from the natural world._

_Success. Now to find her…_

_"Oh…"_

_That was the former Lion King's only reaction to the realization that, very shortly, his wife would be with him once again. He kept his focus on his goal._

_"Alright. We don't have much time. She's going to get herself killed if we don't act now. So, just as we've practiced…"_

_They could all see their target charging towards the one that had just killed Sarabi. It wasn't easy to keep their emotions in check, but in the end, they were successful—just in the nick of time._

_Or, rather, so it seemed._

_"That's it," Mufasa said. "She's gone. However… I don't think we acted quickly enough. She was injured."_

_There was silence, for a moment, as that sunk in._

_"Can we do anything…?" Chukizo asked. "Or is she on her own?"_

_The former Lion King nodded. "Her fate is in your son's hands now."_

_Everyone present had rather hoped that their actions today would be concluded with a sense of hope, or, at least, certainty. This wasn't to be, it seemed—they were all left as anxious and unsure about the future as ever. Slowly, they all started to file away; the dominating mood of the area was somber, lugubrious._

_Mufasa was left by himself to carefully seal their abode again, so, at least, their plans for the future wouldn't be compromised. He did his work rather emotionlessly, taking the time to do things properly—they could ill afford an error at this stage._

_By the time the crimson-maned lion looked up, she was there with him. They'd been apart for so, so long—over a lifetime, in fact. Yet, to him, she was still as beautiful as ever._

_"Sarabi."_

_The distance between long lost husband and wife slowly but surely closed. Then, it remained that way for a long, long time._

* * *

The White Sands Pride was not a resilient family.

Shaken to their core by the disappearances of Akane and Aoi, they spent their days… moping about and sleeping, really; doing nothing more. Without slaves, they were completely incapable of producing the precious gems and metals so valued by the Northern Deities—their days, they knew, were numbered. All it would take was some natural calamity that their Lesser Gods would normally protect them from to wipe them out.

Just two days ago, Amir had traveled to meet with the Lesser Gods. He'd returned with two broken teeth and a ragged slash across his shoulder.

* * *

"I guess that's the last time we'll be coming here."

"Shame. It really was profitable."

"Despite everything… I'll miss it."

Rifles slung over their shoulders, they walked back to their vehicle. They examined, with a sense of sadness, the landscape—they'd never be seeing it again. Entering a place like this had been an enormous risk, and, now that the practical, and, sometimes, quite literal gold mine of the White Sands had been exploited, it was time to end things. It was a miracle that some first-world country's intelligence organization hadn't picked them up years ago.

Minutes later, they were traveling in excess of seventy miles an hour across a rather barren wasteland—off limits to _everyone_, period. They were heavily armed—their Jeep had a mounted fifty-caliber machinegun, currently manned by the taller of the two, who was jostled, a bit, as the vehicle trailed dust and tracks across the landscape. Apart from that, a multi-grenade launcher and a few flare dispensers mounted at strategic locations about the vehicle had gotten them through some dicey situations before.

The fear that had developed about this part of the world generations ago had never really diminished, and for good reason. It made sense that this nation was one of the poorest in the world; one of the few where modern technology still had yet to really tame nature—the nature one encountered here with startling regularity was difficult to conceive anywhere but at the top of the food chain… above men.

Perhaps, some day, someone with vision and money for aircraft, artillery, and manpower would take control of this land. Perhaps. But they doubted it.

It was a full two hours before the driver's eyes narrowed. He'd seen little more than a shift in the sand up ahead, but that's the only warning they'd get.

Banging on the headrest of the passenger seat with a fist made the gunner aim forward—his weapon was already charged, and, with the flick of a thumb, its safety disengaged.

For a few moments on, nothing of note happened. The Jeep moved on, casting a gradually lengthening shadow across the sandy ground due to the setting Sun—beads of sweat started to appear on the men's foreheads as they prepared to be engaged.

A tremor shook the vehicle. Then, perhaps fifty yards to its ten-thirty, there was another, larger shift in the ground—one with a subterranean cause.

That was all the provocation the gunner needed to unleash five heavy slugs at that slight movement. Brass casings the size of his finger flew through the air, and, as the combined smoke, recoil, and flash from the discharge of such a powerful weapon collected in his vision, his face set—this fight wouldn't be over quickly. A few shots into the ground wouldn't scare off whatever horror this was.

Over the roar of the engine, the gunner called to the driver, never taking his eyes off the terrain in front of him. "Drive faster," he yelled. "I don't think we've faced anything like this before. How long 'til we're out of here?"

"Another fifty miles," the driver replied. "But I don't want to push the engine too much—if I do, it might overheat, and if it does, we're dead."

That was true. So, gritting his teeth, the gunner accepted that he was solely responsible for bringing himself and his cousin home safely.

Sweeping the steppes before them with the barrel of his weapon, he forced himself to calm, searching for any signs of movement. This monster—whatever it was—was a big one. That was for certain.

Or not.

A few moments passed before the driver—not the gunner, the driver—got the cold, ominous sense that he was being watched. Now, annoyingly, his options were Manichean—he could keep looking forward… or he could turn his head, to see what was looking at him, if anything. Instincts could be faulty, after all.

For some time, he dealt with it, ignoring the way the hair on the back of his neck was standing on end, every nerve in his body screaming at him to turn around. Eventually, muttering a curse to himself, he appeased them, and did so.

Then, he started screaming, and very nearly overturned the car.

The moment the driver started to shout, the gunner knew something was wrong. He was blessed—well, in his opinion, anyway—with the complete absence of fear; it was an emotion that simply didn't register to him.

Thusly, he reacted marvelously, throwing his elbow, driving its tip into the face of the creature that had hopped onto the Jeep, and, just then, seemed to have been working out just what the fuck it was looking at.

The blow knocked it off, however, so that it flounced, for a moment, across the terrain, before disappearing underground—just a second before the gunner brought his weapon on target, chasing the disappearing animal with a few more fifty caliber bullets.

"The fuck was that? What was it trying to do?!" the driver yelled, moving just a little faster, sitting even more ramrod straight than he had been a moment ago. His knuckles were white as he held the steering wheel, holding the vehicle perfectly on track—even the slightest oversight, at this speed, could send them into a fatal roll.

"No idea. Keep driving," the gunner said coldly; though he knew that despite his cousin seemed to scare easily, he never lost sight of their goal—getting out alive.

"Did you see its—its feelers? It _tasted_ you!"

"Shut up."

Shivering once, not in fear but in disgust, the gunner slapped at the side of his neck. Feelers… how revolting.

This time, he faced backwards, trusting the driver to keep track of an attempt from the front or sides of the vehicle. Looking around the retreating desert suspiciously, as the terrain changed from barren steppes to rough, rocky hills, he smirked—they were safe now. There was no way an animal could burrow through packed stone and dirt.

He was able to feel a few long seconds of relief before the creature exploded out of the ground in front of the vehicle.

It was shaped like a cone—at perhaps twenty feet long, it was regardless light enough to hitch a ride on the Jeep without being noticed, as it had displayed. This seemed to be at odds with the obvious armor plating that were, just then, deflecting bullet after bullet fired by the Jeep's powerful weapon like they were pebbles.

As it shot into the air, both men could see how it penetrated the rock below them—its entire body seemed to revolve, in a bizarre, unnatural manner, making the creature a living drill. That wasn't all, though. It had exploded out of the ground, coming to a maximum height of perhaps twenty feet in the air… and stayed there.

The gunner poured fire on, for a moment, as the creature hovered in the air before the Jeep—this was all at eighty miles per hour. Spent casings and bits of ammunition belt littered the rockland, but failed to down the flying creature staring the men down, moving a series of scales about its body in a bizarre, rolling manner to stay off the ground.

Unintimidated, however, the gunner merely adjusted his aim, searching for weak points. The barrel of his machinegun started to smoke, sweating heat into the environment. Shot after shot pounded the insect-like being without ill effect… until the line of fire made its way to the creature's face.

A explosion of ganglia and ichor told the gunner that he'd done his job—the creature tumbled out of the sky, bouncing across the ground until the Jeep's tires ran over it, tearing it into separate, gory pieces. The gunner allowed himself a self-congratulatory smirk, and chamber-checked his weapon, before holding the bolt back in his hand, for a moment, allowing it to cool. He'd knocked out perhaps fifty rounds so quickly…

The mountains that marked the eventual boundary between the civilized world and this practical alternate reality were getting closer and closer by the moment; and with their approach came hope. It looked like they'd make it home again tonight.

It was just as the gunner had this thought when the Jeep was shoved, punted up into the air by a _massive_ force from below the surface of the Earth. The driver screamed, but managed to keep the vehicle upright when it made its bone-jarring landfall.

He said some things, then, that the gunner never really heard. Instead of using the machinegun again, he slipped out from the operator's harness, and, a moment later, was in the passenger seat, strapping a five-point crash harness identical to the driver's over himself. A moment later, he had the grenade launcher at him.

After charging the weapon, he looked, grimly, forward. They'd encountered this creature before… and fighting it was _not_ easy. Worse…

"Oh, son of a bitch…"

The driver said that, and a moment later, the gunner saw why. With a growing sense of dread—but not fear, not really—he looked to the left, past his relative. There wasn't just one massive, rolling presence under the ground… there were two.

Dust trailed into the air behind the Jeep for several hundred yards until it dispersed relatively evenly into the atmosphere. Little chunks of rock were kicked up as it continued to move, in contrast to the man-sized boulders thrown around by the vectors of the creatures' paths.

For a moment, one of the massive bulges disappeared, and, guessing correctly what was about to happen, the gunner looked to the side. Sure enough, after a few seconds, the second creature—or, rather, signs of its presence—appeared again.

The Jeep, then, was flanked on either side by the two underground monsters—they were, clearly, working in collusion to destroy the vehicle and its occupants. Being in the nexus of such massive powers was, to be sure, intimidating, but, after sharing a glance with his cousin, the driver's face set. They could do this.

One of the disadvantages of being so large was that it took a correspondingly longer time to move—it was that much harder to catch an enemy by surprise. The creatures started to move towards one another, attempting to converge, preparing to execute some sort of coordinated team maneuver—they were unsuccessful, however, as the driver slammed on the brakes, pulling to the left. This gave the gunner an open shot, which, in short order, he took.

The gunner fired off four grenades rapidly; all were bang on target. Their shaped-charge warheads cut through the rock that would have protected the creatures from feeling the brunt of a .50 BMG shot, finding armor and flesh inside. Hundreds of pounds of shattered sediment and dirt were thrown into the air, but the driver neatly swerved around the chaos, allowing his cousin to hold a bead on the creatures for a few more moments.

They writhed underground, still invisible—but, once or twice, the gunner saw torrents of greenish blood splash out onto the surface. The agony lasted only for moments, before the subterranean churning stopped, and the creatures—ostensibly—left.

Satisfied that they were safe, at least for the moment, the gunner made his way back to the vehicle's turret, this time keeping the grenade launcher with him. It was getting dark, now, but this was of no consequence—with the flip of a switch, powerful headlights lit the ground in front of the Jeep for hundreds of yards.

The rest of the drive was fortunately uneventful; the cousins left the Land of the Spirits behind them without looking back once. They paused for several moments, implementing several dozen pounds of high explosive to seal that part of the world off to the rest of the Earth for the last time.

If salvation was coming for the Land of the Spirits, it wasn't going to be brought by men.

* * *

After weeks, he was finally going to be conscious again—soon. But not yet.

Dato's predicament had taken round-the-clock efforts—security, as well as the complex and dangerous procedures undertook by Roderik and Simba to attempt to cure him. Rafiki was… missing; this fact had to be explained to the Nomadic leader. And it was a source of great disappointment, and worry, to the lion when he realized that he wouldn't be seeing his old friend and former classmate, of sorts.

As it turned out, Roderik simply didn't have the skills necessary to truly save Dato. The best option available was a mercy-kill… until Simba had revealed that he was skilled—to a degree—in magic. Reluctantly, Roderik had accepted, and, thusly, the month-long operation to save Dato, to give him speech and life again—at least for some time—was undertaken.

Dato, of course, wasn't kept in the main den at Pride Rock—that was too dangerous. Rather, a smaller cave at the back of the massive structure was cleared out and used to hold the leopard. Sentries were demanded 24/7, as the odds that the efforts to save the clouded feline would fail were high.

As fortune would have it, though—they succeeded.

* * *

Everyone was gathered at the back of Pride Rock for good reason. If things went south, it was quite possible that the resilient force inside Dato would need the cooperation of several lions to defeat him.

Conditions were cloudy, but this had been the normal weather status for quite some time, now. It wasn't raining, and it probably wouldn't for some time yet—there was, however, an ominous, anticipatory sense in the air. The humidity, and the way static electricity seemed to linger, awaiting a discharge, put everyone in a somewhat stressed state of mind.

There wasn't much wind, so, when everyone stopped moving, as Roderik reached down, setting his paw on the leopard's face, for the last time, it was perfectly, absolutely silent.

Silence… silence… silence…

Movement!

He sat up in a sudden, shocked motion, gasping for breath. Eyes wide, he looked around, at the cautious faces surrounding him. And you have to give him credit—he caught on very quickly.

"I'm in the… Pride Lands?"

Simba spoke for the group, circling around to face the leopard head on, from several feet away.

"Yes."

"So… you're the Lion King."

The red-maned lion nodded, smiling, a little—the pride he'd come to associate with his position never failed to strike him.

"I am. Welcome to our homeland," he said. "You're doubtlessly wondering… what happened? So are we. Why don't you tell your story first," Simba suggested, "and then, we'll explain what's been going on in the Land of the Spirits."

Dato nodded, after a moment of consideration. His eyes hadn't been on the Lion King—rather, as he'd been spoken to, his gaze had dropped down to his paws. After thinking about his reply, for a moment, the leopard smiled, sadly, and nodded.

"Well, I'll start at the beginning, then."

"First, there was nothing… then, out of nowhere, pow! A tiny, highly concentrated ball of energy and mass explodes, littering the material necessary for everything we observe today all across the universe—"

"You can start… a little after the beginning," Simba interrupted. "You know. You—that is, we… don't have an unlimited amount of time here."

The ruse had worked. Simba's slight slip of the tongue had given Dato the answer to a question if, specifically asked, would be met only by awkward stares, backpedalling, and lies. He was going to die… and soon.

"I hail from the Black Hills," Dato said after a moment. "I have—had… a mother and father. We lived normally, and morally… and then, one day, he came."

The leopard's eyes narrowed. But when he continued, describing how Kifo and Kishindo had murdered his parents, and how, after that, he'd… undergone some sort of horrible process.

"After that, I don't really know what happened," Dato admitted, half an hour after he'd woken up. "All I can remember is resisting, _constantly_…. And then sort of falling asleep."

"Which brings us to the present," the leopard said, "and the time for you to tell your story, Lion King. What's wrong in the Land of the Spirits? Why is there—or was there, at least… a demon among us?"

* * *

"Sniping one lion is one thing, Kishindo. I dunno if I can take out a whole pride like this."

"I doubt that you can," the lioness replied. "Hence, the rest of your weapons… including myself. Take out as many as you can; when the survivors get closer, we'll mop them up."

It was night, and, as such, the White Sands pride had turned in. All were collected inside their dens, stretched out within feet of one another—it was a shooting gallery, one that a safari hunter would have paid hundreds of thousands to take part in.

Kifo, though, wasn't the sharing type.

It had taken several days to find the lions of the White Sands, and the process hadn't been much fun at all. There was little to do in a place like this—there was no real scenery, the vastness of the repetitive environment got damned boring after the first hour or so there. Before heading into the desert, though, he and Kishindo had eaten well in the Black Hills—hunting in the White Sands would do little more than waste time.

But even without all those added inconveniences, Kifo would not have been satisfied or happily anticipatory.

He'd hit critical mass, so to speak—he simply could not sustain killing and fighting at a rate intense enough to give him any sort of pleasure at all. Even his light banter with Kishindo, his only companion, had slowed, faltered, and, almost entirely, stopped. Though she hadn't said as much, of course, it hurt her.

Of course, she stayed with the demon. Unlike her bastard of a biological son, she was loyal to those she favored.

"There's been a change of plans," Kifo mentioned, as they crept forward, together. "Thought I'd let you know… after finishing these guys, I'll be strong enough. I'm goin' home—dunno how. I don't have time to stop in the Pride Lands."

Kishindo nodded. Truth be told, she was a bit disappointed—she'd wanted to watch her adoptive son, so to speak, tear apart Kovu. Ah, well…

The night sky overhead was blue, deep, and littered with any number of stars. This was probably the one place in the Land of the Spirits that such conditions were possible—the rest of the area was shadowed with what seemed to be permanent cloud cover. Kishindo had noticed it, but hadn't paid it much attention… until she'd realized that the areas most blanketed from the Heavens were the Pride Lands and its surrounding regions.

Here in the White Sands, though, the sky was clear. Moonlight from a slim, pale waxing crescent made the desert shimmer in a somewhat ethereal manner—there was a poignantly beautiful feeling that hit Kishindo, for a moment. It was then that she realized something.

Looking at Kifo, the eight feet tall, powerfully built tank of a demon that had killed any number of vicious, dangerous foes, many of them before her, she was filled with an unfamiliar sense of meekness. The expression on his face was cold, harsh, determined, apathetic to everything but his purpose—it sent a strange tingle across her spine.

_"I never imagined that something like this might be possible. How… bizarre."_

Smirking once, to herself, the lioness merely shrugged, mentally—her revelation changed nothing. If anything, it made her devotion to Kifo that much more stubborn and unshakeable.

_"Maybe I'll end up telling him someday. But I doubt it,"_ the lioness sighed. _"Ah, well. It doesn't matter."_

"Also, Kishindo," Kifo said suddenly, yanking the lioness's thoughts back to Earth. They were atop a low, rolling dune, now, four hundred yards from the sleeping Pride—it was high time to engage.

The demon had paused, though, not speaking. He seemed… hesitant, for some reason. What, though, could possibly give rise to such an emotion in him?...

"It's… getting time for us to part ways."

A pause.

"I'm a demon. You're a lioness. I'm not made to be around anything living for long. Sooner or later, what we've got is gonna have to end… I just wanted to finish it on our terms. Nicely… because I am real happy that you found me, Kishindo. I am."

Now it was her time to pause, mulling over her reply.

"Let's focus on what we're doing here and now," the lioness said in a carefully detached, measured tone, so that he couldn't tell—and she couldn't feel—the emotions wrought on by his sudden confession. "We'll discuss everything else… later."

Kifo was about to say that there was nothing to discuss, but shrugged—he didn't want any sort of drama, not now. He needed Kishindo; he was doubtful of his abilities to take out the White Sands pride alone…

* * *

"I'm sorry for not being able to tell you much more."

"No, it's alright. Now we have some idea of what our enemy is capable of."

"When he comes here, he'll be stronger," Dato said with a sigh. "Don't ask me how I know that… but I'm sure of it. He seemed to gain energy by killing… I'm not sure what he's doing now, but I am sure that it involves killing. Potentially on the macro scale; one much, much larger than can easily be conceived."

A collective shudder ran up and down the spines of the lions present. Dato looked around, once—his vision was improving. His gaze settled on Akane and Aoi, for a moment, and he tilted his head, a little, eyes narrowing.

"Is there something wrong?" the blue eyed lion asked, trying to be somewhat passive, but, at the same time, adjusting his position just a little, nudging Aoi aside, so that, if the worst happened and the leopard attacked, he'd be able to defend her. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You're different… are you the one from the White Sands?" Dato asked.

"Yes," Akane replied thinly. "What's the matter? Never seen a white guy before?"

The leopard shook his head. "Thankfully, no. Otherwise, I'd be a slave right now… or a freedman," smiling, just a little, he nodded in deference, and respect, to the other young male.

"Do you think… how… might your pride be affected by your departure?" Dato asked diplomatically, attempting to word his question as neutrally as possible. It wasn't easy—the very nature of the inquiry was offensive.

Akane wasn't angered, though—just saddened. Like Aoi, he felt his normally sharp, perked ears droop, a little.

Despite the lugubrious conditions all around them, no one really felt overly cautious; not anymore. Most were sitting down; all were no longer paying exclusive attention to Dato. Each worked on his or her own set of theories, as the group in general struggled to come up with some sort of defensive strategy—how were they going to prepare for the showdown with Kifo, when it came? Because it was coming—there was no question about that. It was coming.

The White Lion still didn't answer, though, and, frankly, it was because he didn't want to imagine how his parents and aunts might be living. Though it seemed narcissistic to admit this… he and Aoi were the pride's _life_. The only ones in their generation, without them, there was no hope for the future.

For all he knew, his mother and some of her more dangerous friends were coming, just then, to bring him home. With force, if necessary.

"Yo. Kid."

The deep, husky voice of one of the Desert lionesses made Akane blink, then turn to her. It was… what was her name? Ah, yes—she was the one that had met the loyalist Nomads and himself; she was the swimmer… Adhabu.

"Yes… big sister?"

Politeness, courtesy, and respect for elders were some of the few valid moral lessons Akane had learned from the White Sands.

"Spill the beans," the dark lioness said simply. "Everything's easier when the truth's out—trust me. Dato's pro'lly got something in mind… if you want, the rest of us will leave. This matter's between you and him—all we need to know are the facts you end up with."

The Desert lionesses shared a collective glance. Then, a somewhat strained… smile. No longer were there secrets between them. And, again, Shindani was starting to see the two other beings she'd grown up with as sisters.

"No, it's alright… just… give me a moment. It's hard to think…"

Silence. Then, finally, Akane answered.

"My mother will be, outwardly, very, _very_ angry. Inside, she's undoubtedly incredibly hurt, but she'll never, ever show this, not even to my father. And my father… he'll just be lost. Blank, I think… The rest of them will… either be angry, or sad, or something in between. No one will be apathetic. But it's hard to say what they might do."

"Regardless… they're not capable of fighting anything, or anyone, really, with the power to pose any real challenge to them—except you, of course."

Akane was silent, so Aoi nodded, then spoke up, in a soft, timid tone.

"Yes, but… I don't think they'll come here. They _may_ guess where we've gone, but the White Sands are not a kind place to live. They don't have the power to send out a real fighting force on such a long, risky mission… and they won't all leave their home. I believe that we're relatively safe… as long as we stay with everyone else."

"That's not the point," Dato said, growing concerned, quickly—this despite the fact that he knew beings that would kill or enslave him without a second thought might be in danger. "My point is that they'd hardly be able to take a squadron of my people on right now. If it comes to it… how on _Earth_ will they fight a demon…?"

No one answered, but no one needed to. The answer was obvious: not very well.

"Now, since we're speculating, let's speculate that, in fact, Kifo has defeated the White Sands pride. What would his next move be?"

Lions of the Land of the Spirits were creatures of sophistication, class, honor, pride—with, of course, a few exceptions. This meant, quite simply, that a boys' night out for them didn't consist of buffalo chicken wings, bleu cheese, cheap beer, bad jokes, and strippers—it meant thoughtful, in depth conversations about their future.

Though he wasn't the Lion King, Roderik was, overwhelmingly, the one that led the conversation. Simba didn't mind, of course, and was extremely grateful the wisdom of the oldest lion anyone had ever heard of. He was able to look at things from a variety of angles, whereas Simba's scope was somewhat limited, due to his slight affinity for glory and the like—such sentimentality is nice, of course, and makes for great movies, but any victory pulled off by the Pride Landers and Freak wouldn't have a high margin for error.

Kovu and Akane tended towards silence, mostly. When the dark lion, it was generally to remind them of something they'd forgotten, or failed to take into consideration. The former White Sands lion, on the other hand, barely ever said anything.

And that night was no exception.

Thusly, due to how busy they were, the three other males failed to notice that Akane was thinking.

_"Supposing… he has defeated my—former pride. Then…"_

"What is his motive?" the white-furred lion asked suddenly, looking up. "Why is he here?"

The southern portion of the Pride Lands, near the dangerous and, at the moment, utterly unpopulated and brutally _wild_ Outlands, was, mostly, a plain. This was where a significant portion of hunting occurred—although it was difficult to sneak up on an animal with any semblance of a brain in terrain like this, the lionesses of the Pride Lands were great hunters. With new help and tactics from the loyalist nomads, their success rate had increased, dramatically—free interchange of ideas, it seemed, was a very, very good thing.

They were patrolling just a stone's throw from the gorge in which, Simba noted with some sadness, he'd lost his father. The gaping crevice was utterly silent, everything that went on in its foreboding depths was discernible.

Unlike anything going on in Akane's mind—talk about a poker face.

His question went unanswered for a moment, until, at last, Kovu sighed.

"We actually don't know, at all. Mohatu predicted that something like this would happen, but not why…"

The dark lion glanced at Roderik for confirmation—the old lion nodded.

"We don't know why he came here, or how, if it was even his decision to come here in the first place. We don't know if he was created by some sort of force… or if he simply came to be."

"Hold on a second," Simba interrupted. The red maned lion pursed his lips, for a second, going over what had been said in his head again. "Some sort of force could have created him… what could have _that_ kind of power…?"

"Well, actually, my teacher had a few theories about that as well," Roderik said. "I don't know all of them, though—this is why we need my old friend so much. Together, we might be able to help prepare things for… dealing with the root of the problem."

Simba was chilled, just then. And it wasn't by the knife-link gust of wind that suddenly kicked up.

"But let's focus on the demon for now."

"After the White Sands… what will his next destination be? Where will he attack from?" Kovu asked. "Is he going to come here immediately? Or will he go somewhere else, first?"

"We have no way of knowing that," Roderik admitted. "I wouldn't be too worried, though. To be sure, he'll be able to enter the Pride Lands, despite the defenses we've put up around it—however, the moment he does, we'll all know."

"What's to stop him from leaving the Land of the Spirits altogether?" Simba said.

"Probably… the nature of the Land of the Spirits themselves. You can't simply leave…" Roderik struggled to explain. "It takes… a lot of intent, among other things. The demon will not be capable of simply getting up and going…"

The old lion glanced to Akane. And, after a moment, the youngest male spoke again, after several moments of silence.

"My former homeland borders the edge of the Land of the Spirits," he affirmed, sidestepping a large pawprint—he glanced after it, for a moment, wondering whose it might be—before continuing. "My father used to go there, every week, to meet with the Northern Deities… they're Lesser Gods whose protection we needed. We paid them in precious stones unearthed by enslaved leopards… I wish I'd been able to go with my father on one of those trips, now. I could tell you more than what he told me… which is that it's not possible for a sentient being born in the Land of the Spirits to leave it without excruciating pain—which leads to death."

"That's not entirely accurate," Roderik said, giving his old, somewhat wild mane a toss, "but true in its essence. I don't believe that the demon… entered the Land of the Spirits… not physically, at least. I feel certain that he was created here… probably on the Forbidden Island."

* * *

A number of interesting theories were shared. Relatively few were taken as truth, or probable truth—but those that were happened, in fact, to be true—at least, mostly. All in all, a few important ideas had come to light, though it was unclear what their repercussions might be. Roderik had some meditating to do.

And so did Akane.

He'd gotten very good at deception—after spending so much time living a lie 24/7 in the White Sands, faking emotion and intention were as natural to him as breathing. This was, in his opinion, fortunate—now, no one had any idea what he was up to.

After it had gotten somewhat late, everyone had gone their separate ways. Simba and Kovu had gone back to their mates, while Roderik mentioned that it had been some time since he'd been in the Pride Lands, and wanted to reorient himself—he was going to sleep under the stars, that night.

Akane said that he wanted to scout out for hunting the next day.

It was a boldfaced lie.

But he'd gotten away with it, and, just then, the white lion was making his way to the northeast—his destination was the White Sands.

_"I won't be able to avenge my parents…. my whole pride. But we're simply not ready for him to be here right now—our warrior hasn't returned, not yet… I have to delay him… no, I'm lying to myself, now. I have to try to get revenge…"_

Akane's mission wasn't entirely hopeless. The thirst for vengeance was a powerful tool—admittedly a dangerous, somewhat unpredictable one—but it might, in fact, give the lone lion the strength to subdue or defeat Kifo. The demon had only ever fought battles on his terms; with the element of surprise lost and without the ability to prepare and plan and map out an attack, who knew how well he'd perform?

This was ignoring the fact that, unlike any of the enemies Kifo had faced off against before—except for Dato, Sonam, and Makhalava, who he'd only barely won against—Akane was a somewhat morally upright, spiritual being. He was equipped with a strength that Kifo would have a hard time grappling with.

It was somewhat saddening and disturbing to the white lion that he'd found lying so easy. That he'd been able to do it so well to beings that had never, ever wronged him, not even in the least way. Brooding over this, he watched his paws, padded white appendages standing out in a sea of earthy green grass and dirt, move across the terrain… then come to a stop, just in front of a pair of similar paws—these, however, were notably more delicate. Fragile-looking, even.

He smiled, sadly.

"You're really incredible, Aoi. Two months ago, you could hardly predict the weather in the Black Hills with any degree of accuracy. Now, look at you," Akane sighed, his blue eyes meeting his mate's, "you've caught me red-handed—I assume you know what I'm going to do?"

"No," the lioness said curtly, "I know what you're _not_ going to do. You're _not_ leaving—Akane, you weren't really going to leave me, were you?"

The look on her face killed something inside of the young male. The desperate, begging expression she wore was completely genuine, there was nothing false or even overstated about it. And yet… if he could even injure the demon… then his life would be one well spent.

"Yes, Aoi… I am leaving you. I'm sorry," he said, throat suddenly becoming quite dry, as did his maw—dry, parched, lifeless, like, surely, the White Sands would be, when the demon was finished with his kin, his blood—if they weren't gone already. "But I have to fight the demon… I know I probably won't win. But if I can just slow him down, or hurt him…"

The lioness wasn't having any of it. Tears running down her white, perfect cheeks, she shook her head, turning away from him. "No, Akane… just stay here, with me. Please…" She sucked in a deep breath, and looked up at him, before setting herself down at his feet in submission. "I'm begging you not to leave me. You can't do anything against power like that… just stay here, please… you don't want to die a virgin, do you?... if you stay… I promise, you won't…"

The white lion just smiled.

"I'm sorry, Aoi… the fear of dying as a virgin does not apply to me."

"What…?" she gasped, shocked, feeling betrayed.

"I'm sorry, Aoi… bad joke…"

The white lioness's lips were trembling regardless as she continued to stare at Akane, pleadingly.

"Don't… I'm going to come with you, Akane. If you really have to go… I won't let you go alone."

_"I thought it might come to this."_

"I'm sorry, Aoi… that's not going to happen."

She didn't see what he did next; she was completely unprepared for it. The lioness was down, instantly, temporarily unable to move, even an inch—sprawled out in an uncomfortable position, for a moment, she was capable of only watching as Akane looked down at her, only sadness on his face.

"You'll be safe here, Aoi. I imagine that someone will find you tomorrow… by then, I'll be long gone."

He rearranged her collapsed limbs so that she was laying, resting, on the soft grasses below her. With that task completed, he sat next to her, for a moment, and then touched his lips to her cheek… for what would surely be the last time.

The white lion looked up, for a moment, across the gently sifting grasses and trees of the southern Pride Lands.

"I've had a good life, I think," he said, quietly. "Although life in the White Sands was hard, and I… never truly loved my family… I was always cared for and protected. I'm not a perfect, or even a great being—but I've managed to find love in the most perfect female in the Land of the Spirits—and the world."

Beaming down at her, he knew that her blurred vision probably wouldn't detect the wetness in his deep, dark blue eyes.

"I'm sorry that we can't do so, so much more together, Aoi. Fate, it seems, isn't on our side… not this time. I'm going to leave you, now… don't expect me to return. I hope that you'll find another mate, someday… but please, don't ever forget me… nor any of what we've done together."

He stood, now, and started to walk. She watched his slowly diminishing form, desperately—but she couldn't so much as twitch in his direction. Left with no other options, Aoi reached out with her mind, trying, one last time, to beg him to not go.

He paused. Turned, over his shoulder. Smiled.

"See you on the other side, Aoi. _Ma'a salaama_…"

The use of the White Sands's ancient phrase for farewell signified that Akane really intended to leave—for good.

She could do nothing—she was utterly powerless, capable of only watching, and allowing the tears she'd already cried to continue to run down her cheeks as Akane walked away. They'd never see one another again, ever... and it looked like she'd be the only white lion left alive.

Provided, of course, that when he came to the Pride Lands, Kifo wouldn't kill her, too.

* * *

(Unexpected delays have made it unlikely to the point of near-impossibility that I will be able to finish the next chapter in the foreseeable future.)


	24. Long Journey Home II

The Lion King: The Freak

Chapter 24: Long Journey Home II

* * *

(I didn't anticipate a double release. Anyway, author's notes from the previous chapter still hold true here—now, up, up, and away!)

* * *

Freak was wrenched back to reality mostly by Kochai's astonished, confused shout. Had he been alone, though, it was likely that he'd have released himself from that super-conscious state to investigate the strange rift, or blip, so to speak, in the supernatural world that was unlike anything he'd ever experienced before… except for once.

It didn't take long for the li-tigon to reorient himself in his simple surroundings—the walls and floor of what had been his home for some time were, by then, familiar enough to allow him to focus on the one irregularity of the shack within seconds.

He was confused, and understandably so. Like Kochai, he stared at this strange newcomer—she was snarling, panting heavily, prepared to attack, but he didn't return the hostile display. Rather, he merely sat, examining her at his leisure. She looked familiar… impossibly so. This wasn't a coincidence.

Canting his head to the side just a little, he felt a name and face—long forgotten to him—come to mind. It couldn't be… she couldn't be right here, standing in front of him… this was impossible.

"Uvuli."

It wasn't a question so much as it was a statement; he'd said it with such conviction. There was no mistaking the black hyena, after all—though so much had happened to her since he'd last set eyes on her, she was still hard to take for anyone else.

She froze at that, and blinked several times, before refocusing her gaze directly on Freak. Blunt claws gripping the dusty ground tightly, she gasped, slowly, then spoke.

"Shu… jaa…?"

_"How did you know my name?"_

There wasn't time to ask, though. As Freak watched, the young hyena's chest heaved, and he opened her mouth, as if to gasp again. This time, though, blood flowed from her maw—lots of it. He observed a thumb-sized hole just next to her shoulder, saw just how deep it cut into her, and took a single step forward, before stopping himself—this could be a trick of some sort, or an illusion, or some other trap—

Then, though, the hyena fell, and Freak ignored the not insignificant sense of doubt lingering in the back of his mind. He rushed forward, intent on helping her—the first female that had ever loved him.

* * *

She wasn't sure how long she'd been asleep. She was, however, sure that it had been more than just a few hours—and she was absolutely correct. For two full days, she'd been unconscious, healing from the grievous, almost fatal wound that the demon had dealt her.

Slowly, her eyes fluttered open, taking in her surroundings—dingy cement walls so dirty that their original color was hidden, a roof of stamped sheet metal... Truth be told, she had no idea of where she was.

There was conversation in the room, though, and she attempted to listen in on things—it was difficult, though, and she was only capable of picking out a few words, here and there—this wasn't helping.

Perhaps, then, the best decision was no decision. There wasn't really any reason to believe that she was in imminent danger, and even if she was, she wouldn't be able to do much (read: anything) about it. Rest, though, might be helpful.

So, with that thought in mind, she allowed her eyes to drift shut again. Just before they did, however, she saw a small, creamy orange face look down at her, asking her just how she'd come to be here… wherever here was.

* * *

"Ahh… so she was the first one to give you your name, big brother?"

"That's right," Freak replied, replacing a set of bandages around Uvuli's wound for the umpteenth time. "She was very, very young when that happened… in fact, she was about your age."

"I am not _that_ small anymore, big brother," Kochai said. The tigress kitten was standing next to the downed hyena, nose twitching as, yet again, it detected some residual scent native to the Pride Lands. "Very soon, I will be able to live alone… though I do not plan to. I love being around others."

"I know."

There was silence, for a moment, as Kochai merely smiled widely, then looked down at the first Pride Lands female she'd ever seen. Though Uvuli had been unconscious for over two full days now, from the grievous wound in her chest, Kochai regardless felt herself forming a bond with the hyena—she couldn't wait for her to wake up.

And perhaps she wouldn't have as long a wait as originally thought.

"Big brother?" the tigress asked, as Freak continued his work gently, dutifully.

"Yes, Kochai?" the li-tigon replied, noting, with a sense of relief, that Uvuli was no longer bleeding to any appreciable degree.

"Is she supposed to be stirring like this?"

Freak's eyes widened suddenly at that, and he stood up to notice that the black-furred female was, in fact, softly moaning, attempting to run as she lay on the ground. The li-tigon smiled, just a little, as he answered.

"Yes, Kochai. She'll be awake soon…"

_"It's been so long since I've seen her or anyone from the Pride Lands. I've… missed them all so. Uvuli… please get up…"_

She fell still, and, for a moment, Freak felt that he'd been tricked, in a fashion. It seemed that she was merely dreaming, and needed more rest. The li-tigon sighed, somewhat disappointed—then froze.

"Wh… where am I…?"

That voice was as unfamiliar as his own as his lips moved without his knowledge or permission, answering curtly, not wasting a word.

"Hindustan… in the immediate vicinity of the Ganges River."

The hyena moaned again, and Freak blinked, regaining control of his limbs. He knelt down next to her, examining her face carefully—had he upset her into unconsciousness?

"I… got no clue what any of that means…"

Her lips formed a trembling, slight smile. And then, her eyes started to flutter open.

"Who are you…? You've been takin' care of me…"

"That's right," Freak said, in a much more gentle voice, which didn't betray the sudden spike in heart rate he experienced, as well as the fact that he felt tense, for some reason, physically anticipating what was surely—hopefully—coming next. "We've both been taking care of you. That's because we know one another."

"Is that so?" the young hyena smiled as she blinked, a few times, pupils dilating as they attempted to make sense of the powerful, confused signals they received. "I never knew I had friends in 'Hindustan'…"

"Neither did I."

Her eyes were fully open, now, and fixed upon Freak. Her soft, somewhat weak smile disappeared, slowly; her face settled, becoming blank.

She wasn't the only one that had changed since they'd last seen one another, it seemed. Freak was bigger, stronger, faster, and physiologically different from the cat that she'd known—at first glance, in fact, there were no real similarities between him and what he had been just months ago.

Beyond the physical level, though, there were more differences. The new Freak wasn't as brutally solitary and untrusting, or as cold and, paradoxically, in need of warmth—in a hundred thousand ways, he'd grown during the time they'd been apart. Uvuli almost felt like she hadn't changed at all, in fact, in comparison to him.

A ray of sunlight peeked through the window-hole of the shack, warming its occupants and dying a certain patch of the li-tigon's fur a shade lighter—as well as intensifying the telltale stripes that crisscrossed his thick, insulating coat.

"Shujaa."

It wasn't a question—it was a statement. At first, Freak didn't respond to it; then, though, after a moment, he slowly nodded.

"That's right… Uvuli."

"Heh, you recognized me… I'm surprised," the young hyena said, smiling very, very widely, before falling silent for a moment. "How… did you get here?... come ta that… where exactly, is here?"

"Hindustan is very, very far from the Land of the Spirits… we're to the southeast of that part of the world," Freak said. "As for how I got here… technically, I don't know. All I know is that it was an act of evil that sent me here."

Uvuli nodded, a little. Seeing Freak again so suddenly was like a dream—but she managed to give at least the illusion that she was coping with things. She was still too weak for the gravity of the situation to hit her; it would probably happen after she'd rested up a little more.

"So… how did I get here?"

"I was hoping you'd tell me that. You were injured… does that have anything to do with it?"

"I… dunno… can't remember…" the young hyena said, eyes fluttering, a little—Freak noticed this, and reacted appropriately.

"You need more sleep," the li-tigon said gently, looking down at the female. "You've been through a lot, Uvuli. Just rest, and don't worry—I'll take care of you."

His words were spoken without much palatable emotion, but she knew him well enough to know that there was a lot of unspoken meaning behind his words. So, shifting a little on the ground, she nodded, allowing her eyes to fall shut again.

After a moment, Freak was certain she was asleep. Thus, she surprised him when she spoke again, in a very soft, curious tone.

"By the way… who else is in the room…?"

"…A relative of mine. She's shy."

"Ah…" Uvuli smiled, yawning, just a little. She could almost taste how surprised, and impressed Freak was that she'd detected the presence of his relative. She might have gone on to describe more things about the other one in the room—her size, perhaps, or her species, or some other characteristic, but the hyena found that she was too tired.

So, thankfully, she accepted sleep. It came far, far easier than it had in months… because, at long last, she was with Freak again. All was well.

* * *

When Uvuli woke again, Freak wasn't there. That upset her somewhat, but of comfort was the fact that she felt better, a lot better—as she stood, the hyena looked at her shoulder. The terrible wound there was starting to heal, and while she wasn't her old self again, quite yet, she'd be at her best soon enough.

Now, finally, she had a chance to realize, on a gut level, where she was. The shack, she found, was already familiar to her—the yellowed, dust-covered walls, the craggy, poorly-fashioned windows, the ancient-looking ladder that led up to a hay-covered wooden platform… there was nothing of interest in immediate view.

Moving to one window, Uvuli looked outside. Until then, she'd been somewhat dozy from her long bout of unconsciousness—the sight, though, woke her up instantly, completely.

"Oh my Spirts," the hyena said, in a shocked tone, as her mind struggled to make sense of the view of the thousands and thousands of houses before her, "what am I looking at?"

"It is called a city," said a voice from behind Uvuli. "Big brother Raj's people have a name for it… but I do not remember what it is…"

"A city… and what's that smell?" the hyena asked, bewildered. "The… the things that there are lots of. They're kind of like monkeys, _sort_ of, but… I think I'm lookin' at one now…"

"That is a human," the voice said, and, after a moment, Uvuli heard cautious footsteps approach her, very slowly. "They are not like monkeys at all, in my opinion. Big brother Raj was much, much nicer than any monkey that I have ever met…"

"Huh. Guess I'll have to take your word for it… where's Shujaa?"

"Big brother has gone out to hunt, but he will be back very soon. He always is."

By then, Kochai was next to Uvuli, though a few feet still barred the hyena from the small tigress. After a moment, though, the dark-furred female turned and looked to the shack's other occupant with a smile, which, after a moment, was returned in kind.

Then, both females looked outside again. Technically, Freak had told Kochai to stay away from the windows, just in case, but she'd never been the most obedient of cubs. And, surely, since Uvuli was there, everything would be alright.

"So…" the hyena said quietly, after a moment, "I guess this place is your home?"

Kochai turned towards her, and, very shyly, shook her head. "Not at all. I have only been in this city with big brother for a few weeks..."

Uvuli smiled a little at that answer, and turned to face Kochai. "I was talking about this land in general, kiddo."

"Oh… then yes!" the tigress kitten replied brightly. "And you, big sister… you're from the Pride Lands, yes? Big brother said it… but I want to be certain…"

"Yeah, I am. Well, technically, I'm from a place _near_ the Pride Lands that basically no longer exists…"

Owing to the fact that Kochai had still been spared, mostly, from the details of Freak's early life, it took quite some time for Uvuli to explain her life to the tigress. Kochai was a good listener, and seemed to hang off the hyena's every word—she didn't interrupt once, and only tilted her head curiously, silently asking for further explanation a few times.

The entire while, the females looked outside, enjoying the scenery. The Sun was starting to set, and the shadows cast by the taller, larger buildings in the distance combined with the bright orange glow of the late afternoon gave a strangely ethereal feel to the city—Uvuli still felt like she was having one huge, bizarre dream, and half expected to wake up to reality at any time.

Of course, that didn't happen. Finally, she found herself explaining the subtleties of Simba's leadership tendencies to Kochai, when her ear twitched—then her nose.

Then, she turned.

"I'm sorry. I've been watching you two for some time," he said, before smiling, ever so slightly. "It was too cute."

The tigress laughed, bounding forward, crossing the space between herself and the li-tigon in a remarkably short amount of time. She rubbed the blunt, soft smoothness of her head against Freak, for a moment, before turning and looking, curiously, towards Uvuli—the hyena hadn't moved a muscle.

"So… this wasn't a dream…."

"I'm afraid not," Freak said. "You're stuck with me and Kochai, here, until we get back to the Pride Lands."

"That's not what I meant—wait, get back to the Pride Lands? I—I thought that they were mad far away; I mean, that's what I remember, I guess it could have been a dream or something, though…"

Freak cut the hyena's chatter off with a single, piercing look. He stepped forward, walking past her, for a moment, then looked outside for the window. Satisfied that they hadn't been detected, he looked over, vaguely, to the kill he'd brought along—a simple meal; a young but nicely-sized deer he'd picked off at the outskirts of the city.

"Let's eat, then I'll explain things to you. There's a lot you need to be caught up on."

In some ways, Freak hadn't changed at all since when Uvuli had last seen him. All at once, he could be so close… and so distant. For example, he was never more than a few feet from the hyena as, together, they ate with Kochai—but at the same time, he was worlds apart from her.

She found herself staring at him, several times through the course of the meal. He surely recognized this, but he didn't react—he just kept eating, ignoring her, acting as if she wasn't there, or even alive. Uvuli noticed this, at it rather hurt her… but she still couldn't stop herself for constantly peeking at him through the corner of her eye.

He'd grown since they'd last been together. His powerfully-built form was the size of a large lion—no longer was Freak small and lean; he was built to fight. Being in the same room as him was somewhat intimidating; he was as silent and brooding as ever, for the most part…

The li-tigon smiled much, much more than he had before. Furthermore, he played with Kochai, showing a side to him that even Uvuli wasn't sure existed. His sharp features and the fluid, liquid grace he moved with made it clear just how devastating he could be in a fight, though she hadn't seen his prowess in action—yet.

By the time they were finished eating, it was almost dusk, and Kochai was understandably sleepy—she'd been kept awake by Uvuli's gripping story for most of the day, and was left stumbling on her feet, eyelids drooping, as she rubbed her head against Freak's and Uvuli's shins.

The hyena smiled slightly as, for the first time, the young tigress shared physical contact with her, and reached down to ruffle her headfur with a gentle paw. Kochai smiled at that, and then made her way to the corner of the shack reserved for sleeping. Once there, she stretched, for a moment, yawning, then rested on her side.

"Good night, big brother… good night, big sister…" she said quietly, smiling, as she rested her head on a neatly folded paw.

"Good night, little sister."

Uvuli glanced at Freak at that, a bemused expression on her face—they'd spoken in almost perfect unison. The li-tigon didn't visibly react, though, and held Kochai with an intent gaze, for a moment.

"If you wake up, don't be afraid if we're not here. Big sister and I… have some things to discuss. Many things to discuss."

* * *

They were walking together through the old, abandoned part of the city. In this valley, no humans lived any more, and only JKT members occasionally ran reconnaissance ops—they were safe.

It was dark, but the city was still alive; this was what hit Uvuli about it. In the Pride Lands, night meant _silence_ above everything else: only an explosion of violence from a hunt or scuffle would shatter the perfect tranquility of the area. This land at night was a far cry from the slowly sifting grasses of the plains, or the gentle chirps of frogs and crickets of the ponds and oases, or the foreboding but peaceful jungles of the Pride Lands—the urban life, it seemed, was not for Uvuli.

Freak, though, seemed as home in the city as he did anywhere… which, actually, probably wasn't much at all. Still, there was an unmistakable aura of calm about him that comforted Uvuli as they walked side by side—close, but never touching. Never touching.

They were traversing across a street, then, and Freak had just finished explaining what he'd been doing since he'd left the Pride Landers so long ago. He… wasn't exactly a good story teller, so Uvuli had to cut in every now and then to prompt him for explanation or clarification.

Now, though, everything that needed to be said had been said, and things were starting to make sense to the hyena. For her part, she'd explained, in as few words as possible, those last, confused moments in the Pride Lands. When Freak had learned that Sarabi was no longer among the living, he froze in his tracks, for just a second, before walking on, bowing his head sadly.

Walking in almost near silence, their paws making no real nose as they padded across the dusty, unpaved street. Things were getting awkward, fast, but if Uvuli knew Freak, he'd never say something to break the uneasy silence. The hyena looked at him, and smiled.

"So… when's this ship coming?" she asked.

"I'm not sure…" the li-tigon said, adding, after a moment, "soon."

"But we don't have any water or food ready for the trip."

"Yes."

"And we don't know how to get either."

"Yes."

"And we're still taking the ship?"

After just a heartbeat of hesitation.

"No, now that you mention it."

That answer certainly surprised Uvuli—she looked at Freak, for a moment, rooted to the spot. He was abandoning the Pride Lands…?

"_I_ will take the ship. You and Kochai… will live here, or find some other way to get to the Pride Lands. It's too risky of a journey—I don't want your deaths on my conscience," the li-tigon said, breaking off somewhat quickly—his throat felt quite dry, for some reason. Perhaps it was due to his reference to something so unthinkable as the deaths of the two females under his protection.

Uvuli smiled for a moment, before walking on, again alongside Freak. She should have known… he wasn't a coward.

"Y'know, Shujaa," the hyena said, "you'll have a hard time keeping me and that crazy kitten away from you. You'll have to use force, and lots of it… we'll be injured. And you wouldn't leave us injured in a strange land, alone, right? And if you do try to stop us from following you by force, I'll fight back… and I'll probably injure you, too. Uh, a little," she added, glancing at the cat's powerful forelegs.

They were at the coast, then, or nearly there. Prudence dictated that they not reveal themselves to anyone glancing across the river so easily—but from behind a thick, dry bush, their view of the darkened city was much, much better than it usually was.

The reflection of the moon on the water shimmered, slightly, due to the small, unpredictable waves that rolled across its surface. The night was surprisingly clear; Freak could hardly remember the last time he'd seen so many stars in the sky.

He found himself looking skyward, for some reason. After a moment, Uvuli caught on, and joined him.

Neither of the two said anything, for a few long moments.

"You know… I can't see too many stars here in Hindustan. Could be because the air here is garbage…" the hyena shrugged, and again, fell silent for a moment.

"But you know, Freak, even if we can't see the Heavens as well as we normally can, they can still see us. No matter what, no matter how bad things get," Uvuli said quietly, "I know that we're being watched over by the people that have left us. There's no question about it to me… none at all."

She wasn't expecting an answer; speaking, in Freak's opinion—or, rather, her conception of it—would ruin a moment like this. But the li-tigon did speak, then, albeit a very soft, one word acknowledgment of her words.

"Yeah…"

A few feet still buffered Freak from the hyena, but that wasn't true for much longer. She moved towards him—the night was chilly, in contrast with the stifling, moist heat of the day. Freak was warm though… so, after glancing up at the li-tigon and not seeing an unspoken but explicit threat or warning in his eyes, she rested against his side. Yes… he was warm.

"Hey, Uvuli…"

Her ear perked up at that, but she didn't look up much. So, she wasn't treated to the rare pleasure of seeing Freak smile.

"Would you like to play tag?"

* * *

He hadn't changed at all, Uvuli decided, as she walked, exhausted, back to the shack that held Kochai. She was sweating, panting, but laughing softly and smiling—Freak was still fun to play with… and even she had to admit that he could take her apart just as easily as he had when she was small enough to hold in one paw. The li-tigon was a good sport, though, and that was strange when one considered all the lack of justice he'd experienced in his life—he let her tag him, several times, and even dramatically collapsed when she managed to tackle him.

There was even enjoyment on his face—it wasn't obvious, but Uvuli knew how to read the li-tigon well. He didn't need to smile or say anything to let her know that he'd had fun with her.

They'd cavorted all over the abandoned sector of the city—it was a slight risk; for all they knew, some gang or miscellaneous vagabond might have taken refuge there. Thus was not to be, it seemed, for those entire two hours had passed without incident.

They were only two blocks away from home base, so to speak, when Uvuli spoke. She kept her tone casual, as if this was something she said all the time. She paced along, shrugging, nonchalantly, as she turned to face the male.

"Y-y'know, Shujaa… I love ya."

"I know," the li-tigon replied… and that was all. How maddening.

The hyena considered explaining the true meaning of her words, for a moment… but then decided against it. She was, of course, no expert in the matters of love—at least, not this kind—but for Freak, she guessed, rather shrewdly, in the opinion of the Lion Sheikh, that the best course of action wasn't bold and daring… but slow, gradual, subtle.

So she kept quiet and just smiled, enjoying the cooling effect the night breeze had on her as it ruffled her coarse dark fur. It made her sigh, a bit—no matter what she did, she could never get it to be soft and smooth… ah, well. Hopefully, Freak would come to look beyond that.

"And you know," he said suddenly, interrupting her thoughts, "I love you too, Uvuli."

Freak wasn't facing her as he said that. Rather, his gaze was forward, on the building that held his relative. Massive paws noiseless as they padded across the ground, he was the epitome of feline grace—watching him execute the simple action of walking was an experience in itself.

"I'm sorry I had to leave without saying goodbye to you… but… it's complicated. I couldn't be around anyone… Vitani's death affected me. Even now, it's hard for me to say her name without regret…

"I'm different now, though. I no longer accept the narcissistic utility of running away from problems like this as acceptable—that's why I'm coming back to the Pride Lands… why I'm coming home."

"For good?" the hyena said hopefully, and, for a moment, Freak seemed on the verge of nodding… but he didn't.

"I won't promise that. I still don't know if life among so many others is good for me," the li-tigon admitted. "Granted, I've created bonds—powerful ones—with many all over the Land of the Spirits… and one more, in Hindustan," he nodded in the direction of the shack, "but… it still doesn't feel right. I was born alone… and it could be my fate to live alone. After I've done my duty to my family and my homeland, of course."

"But what about the rest of us? We'll all miss you," Uvuli said, trying not to sound too desperate.

"That's true, and it will be taken into consideration, when the time comes. For now, though, I have to concentrate—first, on getting home. Then, on defeating my twin…"

His expression darkened, then, to a degree imperceptible by most. But not Uvuli.

They were just in front of the shack, then, and it took no effort to hear Kochai's unbearably cute, purring snores. The two looked at one another, for a moment, then turned, facing the river—though a thick bush, of course. There was still the danger of being seen…

"You don't think you can do it."

The li-tigon didn't reply to that. But Uvuli just smiled.

"Look, Shujaa, when you were gone, I talked to my dad about your cub days. He knows a lot more about you than you think—heck, there were even times that your little misdeeds had witnesses; he silenced 'em, of course. You were just a cub—you couldn't be perfect," she said, trying not to giggle at the way his head snapped up in alarm, as if the fact that he'd occasionally blown his cover several years ago would change anything now.

"Anyway, as I was sayin'… you did some pretty incredible stuff back then. He told me—is it true that you took out a blackfang python before you were a year old?"

"If that's what they're called, then yes… I always thought it was strange that there was only that one…"

"Nope, they're a fully established species. I think Dad said that they're native to the Bloody Shadows, but then sort of migrated to the Unexplored Regions… I guess the one you fought got left behind."

Freak was curious, and wanted to ask any number of questions about how, or why, an entire species had done that—but he pulled his thought back to the subject at hand.

"It's not that I don't think I can do it…" the li-tigon said. "It's just…"

Uvuli looked at him skeptically. So, Freak's expression hardened, just a little, and, as his gunmetal eyes bore into her, he spoke.

"Kill your father."

That certainly took the smirk off her face.

"…Huh?"

"He's a threat to all you know and care about," Freak said harshly. "Kill him. Don't hesitate, don't look back, don't question yourself for a second—if you do, everyone is _dead_," he snarled, "or worse. Kill him. Do it. Now."

There was a pause.

"You can't, can you?"

After a moment, Uvuli replied, somewhat breathlessly.

"'C-course I can't… my dad's in the Pride Lands--no, just kidding. I see what you're sayin', Shujaa. But what other choice do you—we—have? That's it," Uvuli said, "we'll help you. I mean, there's all of us, and just one of him—"

"No," Freak said. "This is my battle. I'm not being a fool… but it's part of Mohatu's prophecy. No one can defeat him but me… I'm the only one that can do this, and it will be alone. There's just him and me… I'll trust the rest of you to give me room to fight, keep a close eye on the borders, but, mostly, stay _out_ of the way. If any of you are injured…" he shook his head, "I won't forgive myself."

The li-tigon's throat was starting to get sore. While he'd toughened his vocal chords up to the point where one paragraph no longer hurt to say, this was a bit much.

"Well… don't expect this ta go over well at home," Uvuli said, conceding to the li-tigon. She was still, for a moment, then, annoyed at how incapable of defying his wishes she was, blew at a stray shock of fur, and sat down.

Freak didn't join her, immediately. He looked, ponderously, over the water, then, slowly, shut his eyes, starting to meditate.

He was interrupted, though. Uvuli nudged his shoulder with her own—somewhat irritated, the li-tigon peered at her with one eye, lips thinning.

"Yes?" he said, expectantly.

The hyena inexplicably started to trace something in the dirt in front of him with her claw. Freak sighed, softly, but didn't complain, and merely looked down at the symbol she'd made when she withdrew her paw.

"That's what's on the ship we're supposed to get on, right?"

"Yes. Why?" Freak asked, turning from the drawing to Uvuli, head tilting, a little.

She didn't answer. Rather, she just looked, pointedly, across the river, and, indeed, much of the city. From around a bend in the river, a massive craft was approaching. Freak's heart stopped, for a second—

Then restarted, at best speed. Their ride was here. Although its insignia was hidden, for a moment, beyond a distant multistoried apartment, the moment it was visible, it was impossible to mistake. This was it.

"Stay here," the li-tigon said sharply. "I'm getting Kochai. Keep an eye on that boat—don't let it go anywhere."

"But—" Uvuli started to protest; but it was too late, Freak was gone. The hyena sighed, then looked, sardonically, at the massive, slowly approaching vessel. "How the fuck am I supposed to stop something like that?"

* * *

He didn't bother to wake her—rather, Freak just grabbed Kochai by the scruff of her neck. He noticed that she hadn't responded when he entered the room, and that was strange… she was usually quite a cautious feline. Perhaps, somehow, she knew that it was him, even while she slept.

This was a question to be pondered at a later time—now, they needed to _move_.

Freak left the shack without a second glance, and glided, silently, back to Uvuli. He set Kochai down—by then, her eyes had fluttered open, but she didn't say anything.

"The ship's here," Freak murmured, peering around the corner of the old, crumbling wall behind which he and the two females were huddled. "I'm not sure if it's going to stop, and if it does, that's another set of complications. We're going to move," he said, "quickly, but _quietly_. Kochai—I'm carrying you. No arguments," he said warningly, but the kitten just looked up at him, with her big, green eyes, and nodded.

"Uvuli—"

"Nah, I'm good, I can swim," the hyena murmured. "Pretty well, actually. Calm down for a second, Shujaa—we've got another ten minutes until it gets here."

Though the tough lessons he'd learned as a cub pointed to action, Freak now had new wisdom—and, after a moment of deliberation, he nodded, and forced his tense, quivering muscles to slacken. There was nothing to be gained by being so tense, just then.

Quickly, the li-tigon ran over things in his mind. Though they had the cover of darkness on their side, there was frighteningly little cover between their current position and the water's edge—and, once they hit the water, there was, of course, no cover at all. Swimming underwater was the only option… and it would be difficult for them to hold their breaths that long.

The ship itself was a two-story cargo courier; there wasn't much on it but for large, lashed-down crates of goods. So, at least, once they were on, they'd _probably_ be relatively safe from discovery… by humans in the city. Because there was still the crew to worry about.

Moonlight reflected, lazily, across the glass-smooth, shimmering surface of the Ganges River. Such a serene, peaceful scene was at total odds with the turmoil going on in Hindustan, Freak knew… and the Land of the Spirits.

_"This is an interesting emotion,"_ the li-tigon thought, as he glanced from Uvuli to Kochai, insuring that they were ready to go, _"I've never felt homesick before…"_

There wasn't much time to savor the feeling, though. The boat was approaching them, and fast.

Freak stepped out of cover, carefully, and, for a moment, just looked at his target—it was moving slowly, as was to be expected by such a behemoth structure. In the lack of light, it was difficult to tell much about the vessel, apart from that it was, undeniably, theirs—Freak had little idea of whether or not it had any weak points, or any sort of traps or tripfalls or alarm systems. It seemed, though, that the humans doubtlessly on board were somewhere inside, sleeping—good. One less thing to worry about.

"Alright," the li-tigon murmured," shifting his head, to the side, though his eyes never left the ship. "Let's move… but keep it quiet."

This was like a hunt, in a way, Freak noted, as he moved, eyes forward, expression intent, from scant bit of cover to scant bit of cover. He couldn't go into deep cover in Hindustan as readily as he'd been able to in the Land of the Spirits, so long ago, but the li-tigon was sure, somehow, that he, Uvuli, and Kochai hadn't been compromised—at least, not yet.

There was only a half-broken concrete wall left; then, there were several meters of bare gravel, dirt, and grass before the river met land. This was a huge risk, but Freak could see no way around it, and there was no time to wait… the ship would leave.

Keeping track of the females' position with his powerful sense of hearing, he moved forward, creeping past the final obstacle without pausing for a heartbeat. Kochai had to struggle, a bit, to clamber over it, but overall, they made it into the water without difficulty.

Noiselessly, they made their way ankle, then knee deep into the clear, somewhat chilly fluid. Freak stopped, for a moment, jerking his head to tell Uvuli to move on, and picked up Kochai, carrying her in his paradoxically powerful yet gentle jaws.

Seconds later, they were up to their necks in the Ganges—now things were getting interesting. The tension in the air was so taught it was practically palatable—if they were going to be caught, now was when it was most likely to happen.

After taking a deep breath through his nose and hearing Kochai do the same, Freak slowly dipped his head underwater. He opened his eyes, and, after ensuring that Uvuli was exactly where she was supposed to be, swimming alongside him, the li-tigon started to move.

They were almost perpendicular to the boat, now, and things were going well—they hadn't been found.

It seemed, though, that they'd either underestimated the vessel's speed… or it was moving somewhat faster, now, as it started to get out of the narrow, twisting waters of the city. Furthermore, it would take some acrobatics to get over the lip of the craft… which was at least eight feet above the surface of the water.

They stopped, for a minute, treading water as the ship started to pass them by. It was long, though, so they had some time, at least, to figure out how to get up. Still, staying out here, like this, was dangerous…

Uvuli was the one that figured it out—or perhaps Freak was. The two adults merely shared a glance, and then the hyena nodded, and dove. She vanished, for a minute, under the river's sleek, placid surface…

Then, with a startlingly loud explosion of noise and action, she rose impossibly high into the air—and caught hold of the ship's deck with her paws. Scrambling, for a moment, she managed to pull herself up—there. She was onboard.

Without wasting a second, the hyena turned, and reached down, beckoning to Freak. The li-tigon acted swiftly, and, a heartbeat later, Kochai was tossed into the air.

_"Typical,"_ the li-tigon thought, watching the kitten's arcing vector carry her towards Uvuli's paws. _"Giggling during such a serious situation…"_

Uvuli caught Kochai successfully, and, when the young tigress was on board as well, she looked over—but Freak had vanished.

But only for a second.

The li-tigon jumped up from the surface of the water, teeth gritted with effort as he launched himself towards the ship… before falling short. His eyes widened and his claws extended, uselessly skittering across the toughened metal of the craft, as his face took on a shocked, horrified expression.

_"If I can't get on board…"_

He hit the water again with a loud thud, splashing water everywhere. Hardly a show of his supposedly natural feline grace… but _dangerous_ as well. If someone woke up, and investigated…

There was no time to think about that, though—it was time for action.

Freak quickly started to swim back to the bottom of the river. Once he tapped the sandy, muddy river floor with a paw, though… he paused. Turning, slowly, lazily, he looked up, past the passing boat.

_"If I can't get on board… everyone will die. I'll never see any of them again… and I'll be alone. Again."_

His mind traveled back to the dark, silent days of his youth in the Jungle. It felt so long ago… but it hadn't even been a year ago that the only reality Freak knew was one in which the only one to worry about was him—when there was no one to ask him how his day had been, no one to worry about when they were a few moments late coming back from a hunt, and no one to eat with, sleep with, and, yes, play with. It was a reality that was now more disconnected with the li-tigon's current path in life than anything he could construct.

Motivation…

This time, when Freak swam upwards, he clawed his way through the water almost as if it was an enemy. He wasn't angry—but his face took on an even more determined, set expression. _Nothing_ would keep him from the Land of the Spirits—least of all his own weakness.

When he jumped up again, he hooked one paw over the boat's edge. Then, for a second, he dangled… until he got the other over.

And then, with a slowly rising sense of jubilation, the li-tigon pulled himself up and over… and there he was, with Uvuli and Kochai again: soaking wet, on a boat, traveling eastward on the Ganges River—which, somehow, would take them to the Land of the Spirits.

…Without any food, or clean water…

But Freak decided to focus on the positive, at least now. The smile on his face didn't fade as he, Uvuli, and Kochai exchanged congratulatory looks—this stage of their journey was complete.

"Alright, alright, calm down," the li-tigon murmured, lowering himself to the deck, muscles tense as he peered about. "We could still be spotted by someone in the city…"

This problem was easily remedied, though—Kochai looked around, for a moment, then hopped over a low, long box, vanishing, for a moment. Then, the tigress peeked over, green eyes reflecting thanks to the darkness, and beckoned for Uvuli and Freak to join her, which they shortly did.

There was space where the kitten was, it seemed, for all three of them to stretch out comfortably… invisible to anyone in the city, unless they happened to be at the top of a _very_ tall building, set _very_ close to the water's edge. Perfect.

With that concern taken care of, Freak moved on to his next worries—the crew. Where were they?

He couldn't tell, immediately, so the li-tigon filed that caution away, for the moment, focusing on his surroundings. The crates he was surrounded… they all looked the same. Large, tied down with chords, covered by tarpaulins… he wondered what they contained, then decided that it hardly mattered.

Unless…

The li-tigon blinked. No way…

_"Raj… are these your last gifts…?"_

He didn't dare let that thought surface—not yet; he had to be sure, and he couldn't' rise Uvuli's and Kochai's hopes. He had to confirm it by himself, first… and to do that, he needed to know where the crew was.

As he sniffed around, for a moment, looking over every bit of the craft for _any_ signs of recent human touch, the li-tigon's mind was visited by a thought—a strange, impossible, radical thought.

"Kochai," he whispered, causing the kitten to look to him instantly, intently, seriously, "Raj's little helpers… how did he say they worked?"

_"Hold on a sec—Shujaa's got an insanely amazing memory,"_ Uvuli thought, canting her head, eyes tightening, just a little, as she looked between the two felines. _"Why would he ask Kochai—unless he wants to make doubly sure…? But… why?"_

"I did not understand the details, big brother," the tigress admitted sadly. "But I understood that he sends signals to them in some cases… or they have parts that act as minds of their own, yes? So that they can be autonomous, yes?"

"Yes," the li-tigon replied. "So…"

He didn't continue. So, killed by the suspense, Uvuli spoke up.

"So, _what_?"

"So…" Freak continued, sucking in a breath, slowly, doubting himself rather more than a little, "why should it be impossible for someone else to do the same thing… to a much, much bigger… helper?"

"What are you say—ahh…" Uvuli said, blinking, before chuckling, once, and looking at the ground. "Yeah, I see what you're sayin'… haha. The things these humans'll do…"

"I do not understand," Kochai mewled, looking pleadingly up at her big brother, then her big sister. "Please, explain? What are you talking about?"

"Do you smell any humans, Kochai? On this boat?" Freak asked. "Can you detect any humans here… any at all?"

The tigress was silent, for a moment. She shut her eyes, sniffing, pink nose twitching, as she analyzed the various inputs her senses were giving her carefully. Then, she shook her head—still, it seemed, she didn't understand.

"Think," Uvuli urged. "No humans," the hyena said, before smiling, and nudging Kochai's shoulder with the back of her paw, "and Raj could make autonomous moving things…"

"I do not—ahhh…" the kitten said, eyes widening as she looked down, then all around at the ship, struggling to comprehend things. "So… this is someone else's little helper, in a way?"

Uvuli nodded, but Freak didn't.

"Let's have a look around, first. We have to be sure about this…"

"Dude, relax," the hyena said. "If we can't smell any humans here, any at all… then they haven't been around this part of the ship for at least a few weeks—more like a few months," she amended, and Kochai nodded. "This is definitely… an autonomous ship…"

"Do you think that big brother Raj knew that he was sending us on an autonomous ship, big brother?" Kochai asked, habitually rubbing her head against Freak's shin before shaking some of the water out of her fur.

"Probably," the li-tigon said, looking blankly ahead. "He would have thought it was funny… he probably wanted to tell us at the last possible moment… but then, of course…"

_"He was killed…"_

A pause.

Then, deciding to take a risk—a calculated risk—Freak continued.

"And… I think that he may not have had time to tell us something else."

The li-tigon turned, extending his claws, making his way to a nearby tarp-covered crate. As he started to slice it free, taking it in his massive forelegs, turning it this way and that, searching for a lock or catch to break to open the box, he spoke again.

"Did you ever wonder what, exactly, is being shipped from Hindustan to whatever this ship's destination is?"

Somewhat guiltily, both Uvuli and Kochai shook their heads. It was then that a soft click was heard—Freak had gotten the crate unlocked. With his nose, the li-tigon nudged the top off, then smiled, out of view of the females. Turning, his gunmetal eyes bore into theirs, for a moment.

"Neither did I. Then I realized… Raj would have taught us how to pack meat and water if he had any reason to think that we might need to know how to do it."

The same scent—or, rather, medley of scents—met Uvuli's and Kochai's noses at the same instant. The females froze, for a moment, then darted forward, past Freak, propping themselves up on their forelegs to look inside the crate, one with more difficulty than the other.

"Th-this isn't enough," Uvuli said in awe. "Not to last all of us for more than a week, tops…"

"My sense of scent is still stronger than yours," Freak replied, taking his place in between the females, looking down into the crate with them. "This isn't all…"

_"No effin' way…"_

But the li-tigon was gesturing to _every single crate on the boat_ with a sweeping motion of his paw.

They were all silent, for a moment. Kochai broke it, however, by speaking softly, gratitude—and tears—in her eyes.

"Thank you, big brother Raj… thank you so, so much."

The ship's cargo was, entirely, water, meats, and, for Uvuli, Freak, and Kochai, life, hope, and a fighting chance to return to the Land of the Spirits with enough strength to get to the Pride Lands… and confront whatever evil would meet them there.

These were Raj's last gifts.

* * *

"Are we there yet?"

"No, of course not. We've only been travelling for ten hours now."

"You sure? It feels like so much longer…"

"Ten and a half hours, then."

"That makes me feel so much better, Shujaa. Thanks. Really."

Freak smiled once, without looking at Uvuli. He was too occupied—not with Kochai, who was sleeping, cutely, just a few feet away, in a box cleared out for her usage. Rather, the li-tigon's eyes were on the passing country.

He certainly wasn't so arrogant to think, even on a subconscious level, that he'd seen it all. But, at least, he believed that he'd seen something _similar_ to most everything he might encounter in the world.

This wasn't so, apparently. Not even in the slightest.

Kochai had wanted to stay up to watch, but, after seeing her stumble on her feet, several times, Freak had insisted that the kitten sleep. She'd protested, of course, but didn't really have the energy to defy his efforts at all as he lifted her up by the scruff of her neck, setting her down in her box.

That was five hours ago. Since then, Freak had hardly budged.

With Uvuli's help, the li-tigon had adjusted the set up of the ship's cargo, so that it formed the outline of a rectangle at many points—this would give Freak the opportunity to sit down and look out at the heavily populated banks of the Ganges River without the fear of being spotted by an over-observant human.

To be perfectly honest, Uvuli didn't see how the li-tigon found the passing scenery so interesting—she was bored. She was half-tempted to follow Kochai's example and sleep, but, eventually, decided that she'd rather stay up to keep Freak company.

The li-tigon didn't seem to move a muscle as he watched, ostensibly with great interest, at the passing terrain. It was impossible to tell what thoughts were going through his mind, even for Uvuli.

In contrast with the varying forests and jungles that seemed to comprise the vast majority of the Hindustani geographic area, they were now passing a vast expanse of relatively barren plains. This was the one largest continuous part of the Ganges unflanked by cities or slums, farms or suburbs. There were, occasional, small huts that dotted the landscape, but these were few and far between. Mostly, their eyes met nothing but miles and miles and miles of grassland and steppe.

Uvuli hadn't had the opportunity to go around in Hindustan at all, so she was incapable of fully appreciating the multitude of plant and animal life the area support, as well as how different it was from the Land of the Spirits. Still, she was rather struck by how obsessed Freak seemed to be with things—there had to be a good reason for his interest. Keeping that in mind allowed the dark-furred hyena to sit with the li-tigon as, slowly, the day wore on.

"I'm surprised at you."

She hadn't fallen asleep, but, regardless, jumped a bit when the li-tigon spoke. Apart from the soft, ambient sounds of water pulsing against the ship and shore, and the deep hum of the vehicle's operating motor, it was silent—Freak's voice caught her by surprise.

"O-oh? How so? I haven't exactly been spontaneous for a coupla hours…"

Uvuli smiled somewhat and lay down on her side, resting her head and back against Freak. Though she expected what happened—a complete lack of reaction on the li-tigon's part—she was still somewhat disappointed. Reaching out to him might be difficult after all.

Or, perhaps not so difficult. The li-tigon smiled, albeit slightly, before falling back into a brief bout of silence. Uvuli didn't mind—she just shut her eyes and continued to rest against him, enjoying the heat from his body.

"It's just… most people are so… active. Just watching nature in action… is a pleasure that not many of us enjoy. I was the same, in some ways, before I came to the Pride Lands… I always felt that I had to be protecting myself from some threat in some way, twenty four hours out of the day. Most people aren't that bad… but…" he sighed. It would take a lot more than a few months around Nasher and Raj to turn Freak into a being capable of accurately, verbally expressing his feelings.

"No, I get what you're saying," Uvuli said, slowly rolling to her paws. "It makes sense. What's the point of living, if not to enjoy life?"

Freak nodded… and again felt silent. This was another big question that, he realized, he'd never actually asked himself. Not directly, anyway—of course, he'd considered some long-term goals, and relatively vague strategies for achieving them… but he'd never really asked himself what he intended to leave when his time on Earth was over.

_"Apart from peace in the Land of the Spirits… what would I like my legacy to be?"_

The boat ride was long, and that was fortunate. He'd keep fit, of course, and continue educating Kochai, now that the responsibility for his wellbeing had passed from Nasher to him—but apart from that, he decided, he'd have to directly address what the purpose of his life was. At least with himself.

"Uvuli… have you ever thought of getting a mate?"

"Oh ah yeah um well…" the hyena blushed, under her fur, and stammered a bit more before speaking. "Well, uhm, I guess so… but… Banzai and Ed are like brothers to me; I dunno if I could ever see them as mates… plus, I kinda think they both have their own things goin' on with T and Shenzi…"

"Is that so?" Freak was surprised to hear this—he'd missed out on a lot in his home, it seemed, and it made him that much more anxious to get back. "T and Banzai… or is it Ed?"

"You'll have to wait till we get home to find out," Uvuli grinned. "As for me, though… there aren't really that many hyenas left in the Land of the Spirits. I mean, there's just us in the Pride Lands—literally, that's all. Dad said there might be clan or two to the far, far west… maybe I'll check that out someday…

"…Hey, uh, Shujaa…" the hyena said, continuing, before pausing, abruptly.

"Yes?"

"Same question. Have you, you know…"

The li-tigon didn't answer immediately. After a moment, he turned to the hyena, though… and shook his head.

"So…" Uvuli said, grinning deceptively, "the whole startin' a family thing… not for you?"

"That's not it," Freak shook his head. "I've just… never really thought about it. There was always something else, something more… immediate to do. Now that I consider it, though… imagine. I could never be a good mate, or father."

The li-tigon smiled. But Uvuli knew him too well—she saw the shocking emptiness behind that expression, and shook her head.

"No—I mean, yes, yeah you could. I mean, think about it for a second. You're strong, you set a good moral example… you're a great leader, you're loyal as anything—I mean, look at what you're going through now! What kind of cub wouldn't be proud to have you as a father? What kinda female wouldn't love ta have you as a mate? Worse guys than you get it all the time. Don't tell me that you could never be a good mate or father… that's bullsh—"

"Language," the li-tigon said warningly, not quite glaring at Uvuli… but the dark furred female just grinned, shaking her head.

"See? A good disciplinarian, too."

"…Clever," Freak conceded. "Then… I acknowledge that it may happen, and may even have net positive results. But I don't think that it'll happen to me. Vitani loved me… I don't think anyone's lucky enough to have been loved by someone like her, and someone else, as well."

Looking away from Uvuli, back towards the passing landscape, Freak said, quite clearly, that he wasn't interested in talking much more. Of course, she could have pushed him, just a little… but the hyena sighed, and kept her mouth shut. She'd give him a break… at least this once.

"I dunno," she said very, very softly, so that even Freak might have missed her words, "I think that someone lucky enough to survive an attack by his mother at birth, kill a blackfang python before turning one, wipe out a colony of hyenas, destroy an assassination corps, turn the tide of a brutal, multi-generational war, survive being yanked by the tail to another continent, and be able to take out his own twin… might be lucky enough to be loved… by…"

* * *

(Look forward to the next chapters soon. Peace out.)


	25. BaW I: Return to the Pride Lands II

 The Lion King: The Freak

Chapter 25: Battles and Wars I: Return to the Pride Lands II

* * *

(Lalalala laaaaa laa alala—Allah—Allah?  Al-Allah!  ALLAH!  ALLAH!  ALLAH HU AKBAR!  Read and enjoy.)

* * *

Dato was gone.

He'd left the world somewhat like he'd entered it—quietly, softly, perhaps like a drizzle too light and innocent to truly notice or appreciate.  He simply hadn't been alive long enough to make a true mark on his surroundings, and, in the opinions of the Pride Landers and their guests, that was the real tragedy.

Akane was missing, of course, and presumed dead.  When Aoi had regained control of her limbs, she'd wasted no time in notifying everyone.  Immediately after that, a few loyalist Nomad males had offered to search for the missing Prince, but Simba had flatly refused.  Leaving the Pride Lands was, simply, suicide… and the coming violence in the Pride Lands would require all paws on deck.  The white lion had been written off… another loss in a war that they'd dealt no real blows of their own—not yet.

But the lions weren't just biding their time, waiting to be attacked.  With such numbers on their side, their overall combat strategies had to be altered.  On one level; the squad level, things didn't change, much.  Small groups of lions and/or lionesses—three to six—still fought as single units, watching one another's backs and creating overlapping layers of offensive and defensive prowess.

Freak's victory in the Bloody Shadows had, largely, been due to his uncanny ability to delegate responsibilities, even in the heat of combat.  Such leadership skills were, eerily, in his blood—Sarabi had recalled, once, that early on in his reign as king, Scar had eliminated a budding insurgency before it could begin by personally beating her, in fact, severely, for speaking out of turn.

Since then, Simba had spent a great deal of time and effort going over that incredible battle—every aspect of it had been analyzed and shared between himself, Kovu, and Roderik.  And, slowly, a new, _defensive_ battle plan was created.

The Lion King noticed, slowly, that the strategy they were developing was decidedly not geared towards fighting one enemy; or even one small group of enemies, in case the demon decided to do whatever he'd done to Dato to other beings.  He brought this up with Roderik, when he and the old lion were alone.

"Don't think about it too much," the Nomadic leader had said flatly, looking the younger monarch dead in the eye.  "Really.  You'll just get unnecessarily worried."

"You mean—" Simba started, before freezing, _"we're going to fight some other large force?  But who?  How?  Where, when, why?"_

"You're thinking about it," Roderik had said, sighing.  "Seriously.  There's nothing to be gained from it… and, who knows, perhaps learning to fight like this might not be necessary."

_"That means that we may have to fight a… _massive_ force…"_

The more the Lion King thought about it, the more concerning it was.  Unfortunately, Roderik wasn't saying anything—Simba guessed, correctly, that the Nomadic leader was just erring on the side of caution.  No one would be able to interfere in the fight between Freak and Kifo… but a few of Mohatu's prophecies suggested that the war resulting from the Gemini Theory would not be the last one to see their generation.

This final showdown—if it existed—might involve fighters from any number of places, Simba noted.  Perhaps the Forests of the Far East, or the Rocklands, or the Dark Forest, or the Unexplored Regions, or any or all of the above.  But the Lion King did as Roderik said, at last, and put such thoughts out of his mind.

Perhaps that was too hasty, though.  Because there was one place in the Land of the Spirits that _no one_ expected an invasion from.

* * *

There were relatively few emotions that Kifo, as he was now, shared with his former self.  Anger, of course, was one; but, in his human days, he'd never felt it with such intensity and frequency as he now did.

One emotion common to human and demon, though, was satisfaction.  And, after the sheer rush of causing so much pain and death subsided, that remained—for a long, long time.

So did Kishindo… but, Kifo found, he could tolerate her presence.  For at least some more time.

It was a little after dawn by the time the demon stood, no longer hungry, either proverbially or literally.  Kishindo had been fed as well, and she'd commented, several times, on the apparent joys of cannibalism.

Kifo wasn't getting any bigger physically, but he could feel his power increasing regardless.  A few tests—shadowboxing and sprints—suggested that he was, all too literally, a one-man army.

He was ready.

"Kishindo."

She looked up, instantly, when he said her name, as if her entire universe revolved around him—which, probably, it did.

"We're leaving.  Come on."

The balance of power had changed; the lioness no longer told Kifo what to do—he told her what to do, as well as where and how.  She heard and obeyed, and she liked it.  This is how Kovu should have—_would have_ turned out, if it wasn't for a few mistakes, on her part, that she had not repeated with Kifo.

"Where are we going?" the lioness asked, as her paws started to dance across the lukewarm white sand; the sun hadn't been out long enough to really heat things up.

"Away.  To my former… home."

Kishindo blinked—that wasn't an answer she'd expected.  But she didn't argue with him, of course—his word was law.

"How do we get there?"

"Working on that."

"ETA?"

"No idea."

"So… where, exactly, are we going?  Right now?"

"North," the demon replied.  He stalked forwards, single-minded in his purpose.

Kishindo sighed, silently, through her nose.  He didn't used to be this bad… but, the lioness was sure, he'd start to talk to her again, soon.  Perhaps later, he'd teach her something about his heritage… perhaps not.  But one can hope.

The White Sands were far, far bigger than they'd originally guessed.  Traversing it in one day was not something that was possible—for most.  And Kishindo needed water to exist… Kifo was less restrained.

The solution was simple, and executed without delay.  The demon glanced down at his companion, looked at her, for a moment—then lifted her to his shoulders.  Then, he started to run.

It took Kishindo some time to get used to the sensation, but when she did, she found that it was quite enjoyable.  She'd seen Kifo kill… well, a lot of things, in a lot of stomach-churning ways.  But he would never hurt her—_never_. 

Never.

* * *

She'd fallen asleep, at some point.  Kifo ran with incredible speed, but he was perfectly balanced—her vertical displacement was never greater than a centimeter, if that, and the way the wind washed across her form was somewhat therapeutic.  She woke up, though, with a start—when she was thrown off the demon's powerful, stable shoulders.

By the time Kishindo hit the ground, she was alert, awake, and reacting—to… a fat lot of nothing.

The terrain had changed, and she registered that.  The White Sands had diminished into a rather barren grassland, with occasional oases and clumps of trees, but little else.  Even the most cursory of glances said that this was not a part of the world that could support any significant life, save, perhaps, for some nomadic herds or clans.

Nothing, though, was around.

So the lioness was left without any explanation of why Kifo was twenty feet away from her, screaming in pain.

After a few more seconds of observation, she was at his side, checking him, everywhere, for injury… but he was unharmed.

"Kifo, what's wrong?  What's hurting you?" Kishindo asked, curtly.  "Were you shot?  What happened?"

He was too agonized, though, to form coherent words until a moment later, when, panting, heavily, he stood.

"No idea…" the demon murmured, looking, suspiciously into the air, just a few feet from him, before backing up.  A moment later, he'd armed himself with his signature blade, and slowly lowered himself, somewhat, prepared to fight.

There was nothing, though, to fight with!... just the desert, and the Sun, and the air.  Frustrated, Kifo regardless lowered his weapon, and stared, again, at the space in front of him.  Heat rose from the ground, causing a mirage-like, shimmering presence all around northern frontier of the White Sands.

But Kifo saw something more, just a few feet in front of him.

Slowly, the demon stepped forward, raising his sword.  For a moment, his advance was effortless—then, though, things changed, and suddenly.

As the wicked curve of his scimitar crossed a certain border, a massive amount of force was applied to it, instantly.  Kifo was shoved back, barely keeping his footing, by the unseen force—Kishindo's eyes narrowed, though, and she, too, walked forward.

Nothing stopped the lioness, though, from leaving the White Sands… and the Land of the Spirits itself.

"I think," the demon said seriously, "that I'm suffering from a condition called 'fucked'.  Looks like I can't leave this Land…

"That means that I can't have my revenge."

Kifo was silent, for a moment, and still.  Then, he screamed, and ran towards that unseen border—again, he was pushed back, and again, he got up to try again—Kishindo stopped him, though, by stepping in front of him. 

He was just as surprised as she was that he didn't kick her aside and keep moving.

"Stop, Kifo.  Think," the lioness said sharply, almost glaring up at him.  "What is there to gain by attacking a force like this—nothing.  We'll have to be a little more subtle… don't waste your energy and sanity with a frontal assault, boy.  Haven't I taught you anything?"

She was pushing it, she really was.  But Kifo nodded—after a moment of almost snarling down at the lioness—and relaxed, somewhat.

"You're right.  Alright… so, what now?  Can we go around this?"

Kishindo watched as he started to circle, testing the border for weak points.  Predictably, there were none, and she thought she knew why.

"You've been disbarred from leaving," she said, after Kifo had been shoved back the fifth time.  "Scar wanted to do something like it, in the good ol' days… it's a complicated process, but the point is… you can't leave the Land of the Spirits."

"Yeah, I _will_," Kifo said, defiantly, "all you gotta do is tell me how."

"Well, I… to be honest, I'm not sure it's possible," Kishindo said, brow ruffling, "unless…"

She smiled.

"What?" Kifo asked, bluntly—he wasn't in the mood to be toyed with.  Not now.

"We have to invade the Pride Lands."

* * *

Kifo didn't carry his mentor, this time.   He was a bit tired from the long run, and, regardless, she needed to explain things to him.  There would be no leaving the Land of the Spirits, due to the injunction placed against Kifo—there was no directly fighting a force like that.

Of course, the problem wasn't insurmountable.  All it meant was that they had to attack the root of the issue—the Pride Lands.  Or, rather, everyone living in it—only after every single lion there lay dead or under the power of evil would Kifo be free.

The odds were against the demon, but they always were.  And he'd always come out on top, regardless of whether his foe was a monster crustacean, or arachnid, or lion, or group of lions.

Then again… the Pride Landers would be expecting him.  There was no doubt that they were preparing, even then.  They'd be on the defensive, and, for the first time, Kifo would not have the element of surprise.  This was the one advantage he'd always exploited to win—it would be interesting to see how he'd fare without it.

Interesting.

Kishindo had pointed out—timidly, wisely—that taking time out to train and practice could mean the difference between victory and defeat.

She was ignored.  Kifo didn't even acknowledge that he'd heard her suggestion, though he certainly had.

It was funny—on an academic level, the demon could not agree with his mentor more.  However, he couldn't delay… anything, anymore.  Patience was no longer a concept that registered with him; it was another piece of humanity he'd lost.

This was the price of going freelance, breaking away from his Master.  With the assistance of a power like that, he'd have had backup, advice, and a force powerful enough to allow him to keep parts of his former self that had a use in this new existence.  With the Black Army on his side, as well as any number of other assets, Kifo could win—now, though, his victory was… less than certain, at the very least.

Of course, going back to the Forbidden Island for any reason was not an option.  His Master would kill him, or try to—this was beyond question.

Thus, the demon's final march began.  He had little idea of what awaited him, and, now, even less of an idea of what he was doing.  The existence he found himself trapped in, regardless, would soon end… one way, or another.

* * *

It was difficult to keep fit with so little to work with.  Furthermore, with the excess of food nearby, and the complete lack of danger, the temptation to take it easy was overwhelming—or, it would have been, for most beings.

Freak, though, was a freak.

He'd done a great deal of low resistance, high repetition exercise in his life.  The state he was in was one that would be lost within a week of failing to maintain it.  Now, though, necessity forced him to try a new type of exercise.

Kochai was the one that had thought of it, in a fashion.  It was just a day after they'd left—Freak and Uvuli had just returned from a swim; they were both learning how to keep up with the boat, despite the powerful currents and wake left by it.  Such activities were unsustainable, though, and, for safety's sake, both had tied a pair of ropes they'd found around their hind legs, attaching themselves to the ship's railing.

Sopping wet, Freak had easily hopped back onto the deck.  A trail of water arced out from his somewhat overgrown mane as he'd shaken himself off, tan-orange, striped frame glimmering with moisture in the early evening light.  The li-tigon didn't look at Kochai for a second, though—not until he saw Uvuli join him on the deck, safe.

"What a workout," the hyena female panted, too tired to shake much of the water off her fur.  "I'm beat… what about you, shrimp?  You tired, too?"

"Why do you call me this?  I am no crustacean," Kochai pointed out, from her position on the ground.

As playful as ever, she'd been engaged in a vicious wrestling match with a small, wooden crate, formerly filled with a bunch of dark, liquid-filled, pea-sized globules that tasted strange.  On her back, she'd clawed and bitten it, tossing it up into the air, several times, almost like a domestic kitten might do with a ball of yarn.

"Slow down, Kochai, just one moment…" Freak said suddenly, staring at her with such intensity that, for a moment, the young tigress wondered if she'd done something wrong.  "Do… that again…"

"What, big brother?" she asked, slowly sitting up, until the li-tigon shook his head.

"Throw the box into the air again."

Kochai was confused, but did as she was told.  Uvuli merely watched, head tilted, a little—what was Freak thinking?  It was impossible to say, and he wasn't exactly behaving in a predictable manner.  The male feline got down on his own back, next to Kochai, and a much, _much_ larger and heavier crate… then, the hyena just sighed, and shook her head.

"Yo, crustacean… give Shujaa some room."

Kochai was, by then, used to only coming to understand things either after the fact, or a moment after everyone else.  She complied without hesitance, and, a moment later, it was clear why.

Now _that_ was an incredible, and somewhat scary display.  Kochai and Uvuli both took involuntary, quick steps backward—the mass flying through the air was incredibly dangerous; if it came down on either of them, they'd be dead—no two ways about it.

Unbelievably, though, it seemed that Freak had adapted such a childish game—one that, Uvuli noted, with a pang, that he'd probably never really done before—into an intense workout.  Tossing the weight up into the air, catching it, then repeating was dangerous, and noisy—but she could see the strain Freak was putting on himself.

After a few reps of the feline benchpress, Freak tossed the crate one last time, then quickly rolled aside—it came down with enough force to produce tangible vibrations.  The li-tigon looked down at his muscles—they were bulging from the effort.   Good.

"Thank you," Freak said, praising Kochai with a smile.  "Now, let's see if my combat skills are still up to par."

* * *

Kochai sat this exercise out.  Freak couldn't possibly be gentle _and_ fast enough for her to participate—not without serious injury, anyway.  She was still happy to watch; it was great inspiration—if only she could be half as good of a fighter, someday.

Encouraged to practice her own Kochai-jitsu, she proceeded to beat on a helpless crate; soon, her claw-marks crisscrossed it in any number of directions.  She was pleased with herself—she was growing faster and stronger, she could feel it.  Fighting an opponent that couldn't strike back was good for her amour-prope, but she really was improving.  This was because playing with Uvuli and Freak was fun, but it was good practice for later life, as well.  If only her parents could see her now…

Saddened by that thought, a bit, she easily jumped to the top of a large cargo package, peering down across the deck from eight feet in the air.  The ocean was barren, and, in her opinion, boring—the flawlessly blue waves no longer interested her, after spending so much time simply floating.

Her alternative, though, was fascinating.

Uvuli was an excellent fighter.  Her style involved close-range, rapid-fire strikes; delivered in a deceptive, stealthy manner.  This contrasted with the power-based, medium-range methods preferred by lions.  When in tight quarters, she could take down two of her Pride Lands sisters.  In open fields and forests, she had a harder time, but could usually hold her own.

Taking apart a motionless enemy, who'd even gone so far as to shut his eyes should have been well within her capabilities.

Or perhaps this is just another result of "li-tigon exceptionalism".  Heterozygote superiority.

He was holding off her every assault, and, after fifteen minutes of blazing, rapid-fire combat, the hyena had come to the conclusion that she was unlikely to hurt him—she held herself back no longer, but still couldn't strike Freak.  She could hardly touch him.

Training options on the boat were limited, but Freak had been forced to learn how to adapt by a lifetime of danger at every turn.  Every situation he encountered was a situation he'd made advantageous—opportunities were everywhere, in his opinion, just like threats.

Hearing alone didn't protect Freak.  The Dark One—and, to a degree, Raj—had shown him how to manipulate his own inner energy.  Mostly on his own, though, the li-tigon had expanded these capacities.

In a manner beyond simple explanation, he felt Uvuli's intentions, or actions, at least.  Precognition would be too strong of a term to describe what he was doing—he simply saw the hyena's motions without his eyes.  And reacted.

Rarely he'd use both paws; generally, one sufficed to hold her advances off.  He was strictly on the defensive, and, furthermore, strictly static—somehow, he managed to stonewall even her more vicious assaults, without harming her.  Parries and tactically position arm-bars where enough to put Uvuli on her ass, a few times, but the hyena didn't give up.

"That's good."

Panting, Uvuli slowly lowered her guard, watching as Freak opened his eyes.  For the umpteenth time, she found herself captivated by those cool grey orbs—quickly, though, she shook herself out of it and took in a deep, slow breath.

"We done?"

"I think so.  For now," the li-tigon said—annoyingly, he wasn't even breathing hard, or sweating.  How he'd managed to avoid every single one of her attacks…

"You're disgusting," Uvuli sighed, sitting down to rest, for a moment.  "I dunno why you practice so hard, dude.  I can't think of _anything_ that could stand up to you for long."

"'Dude'?" Freak repeated, before shrugging.  "And… I saw my twin, just before the Dark One was killed.  I told you this," he said, and the hyena nodded, remembering the brief, skirting manner in which he'd referred to a "dangerous fighter" he'd seen in a pool of water.

"I guess you did.  Still… what… exactly… is your twin like?" Uvuli asked, haltingly.  _"Heheh… is he as good looking as you are?"_ she said to herself… or so she thought.

"I'm not sure how to answer that," the li-tigon said dryly.  "And… he's similar to a human.  Bigger, I think; far bigger… it's hard to describe him.  He uses firearms, and blades…"

"So, basically, he fights like Raj?"

"I wouldn't say that.  He's more impulsive, reactionary; and far more aggressive—he's probably much, much stronger than any human as well.  Still—Raj taught me many things.  I'll stand a chance against him… hopefully."

Uvuli's brow rose.  This was the first time she'd ever heard Freak express anything but complete confidence in unconditional victory—for the first time ever, the li-tigon felt real worry.  He'd felt concern before, of course; concern about his life and safety… and, recently, concern about the lives and safety of his family and friends.  Worry, though, was a distinct emotion… he wasn't sure he could win.

"Something wrong?" Uvuli asked.

"Yes."

After the curt reply, there was a pause.

"…Well, want to talk about it?"

"No."

At least he was honest.  Males…

Uvuli sighed, and simply waited.  Predictably, after a few moments, it seemed that Freak _did_ want to talk about things.

"I'm not sure that I'll win—it's more than that.  I don't know that I _can_ win.  I'm not sure that I even have a chance.  Before you speak, Uvuli, bear in mind that you haven't seen my twin," the li-tigon said ominously, looking up at the hyena with a strange expression—was that fear in his eyes.  "I have.  I saw him fighting, and he's powerful.  I'm quicker than he is, but he's far, far more powerful than me.  I don't know anything about him, and that's _bad_.  Every enemy I've fought until now… either I've had the chance to form a strategy, or I have some sort of precedent to reflect on… this is different."

"Hold on—that's not true," Uvuli dissented.  "Every enemy you've fought… what was the first enemy you fought?"

"My mother."

The brief, blunt answer made her ears flatten, somewhat.  And, upon reflection, she noted—his answer was completely truthful.

In earlier times, Freak had been able to speak freely about such events without difficulty—provided that he had no reason to feel threatened.  Now, though, he had some semblance of an emotional system.  It wasn't a very obvious one—physically, he did not turn away and curl up.  But the li-tigon wasn't the only one with some ability to read the emotions and intentions of others—like the rest of us, Uvuli could too.

This was an opportunity—a rare opportunity, so the hyena capitalized on it, and walked towards him, unhesitatingly rubbing under his chin with the blunt smoothness of her head.  Freak was surprised—though he understood, now, that he was loved by many, no one was ever really physical with him.

It was a strange sensation, and a bit hard for him to get used to.  After all, his neck… this was his most vulnerable place, and the hyena's powerful jaws and sharp fangs were only inches from it.

After a few moments, though, Freak found himself enjoying the feeling in a manner that was difficult to describe.  Kochai sometimes spoiled him like this, when he wasn't busy or brooding, which he was, 99% of the time.  It was surprising that Uvuli had the patience to nuzzle him for so long without any real reaction—but she obstinately stayed the course, until the li-tigon chuckled, once—she felt it, deep in his throat.

"Thank you, Uvuli," he said softly.  "The gift of your affection is precious to me."

Maybe… she was making some progress.

* * *

A better exercise than Freak's version of a benchpress was swimming—it was a full body workout, and the li-tigon could feel his muscular strength reacting well from it.  Luckily enough, they didn't leave warm waters for any of their voyage—at any time of any day, he could just hop into the waves, and go to it.

Just then, after a week of travel, it was night.  The darkness was complete; it was a new moon, so the only light that shone down on the boat was starlight—of course, thanks to their powerful, reflective eyes, the predators could see fine.

Above water.

Seventy feet under was a different story.

Exponential growth was the best way to describe the improvement Freak's swimming skills had undertaken.  He hadn't trained to increase the amount of time he could go without air, intentionally, but it had to be in excess of five minutes already.

At this depth, the pressure on him from all directions was immense—it was an exercise to simply stay relatively still.  But Freak was swimming, quickly, occasionally stopping and treading water to strike, lightning fast, at unseen enemies.

The silence and darkness of the depths were eerie—it was even hard to tell, at times, which direction was up.  Fortunately, though, the water was relatively clear and unpolluted, so the darkened, pulsating glow from above was visible—his only point of reference.

Hearing, though, was useless.  Scent, all but.  Touch, useless.  Taste, useless.

Shutting his eyes felt… like dying, really.  No sensation, nothing… just the cold, crushing water, and the vague feeling of floating in it.  Strangely enough, Freak felt… safe.  Untouchable.

This was a delusion—he wasn't the only apex predator around, just then.  And the one that approached him was on its home-turf, big time.

It was difficult to say how he'd sensed it, at first.  Perhaps it was due to the all-too-familiar prickling at the back of his neck that said that he was not alone.

Panic would have been the response of most beings, just then—but not Freak.  First, he assessed his situation.  Turning to look in every direction, slowly, he saw… nothing.  It was too dark.  But—he was certain of it—there was something out there.

_"Where should I go?  What are the capabilities of whatever's stalking me?"_  These two questions defined the li-tigon's next actions.

It seemed unlikely that some other being had dived to this depth without his notice—he had to assume that whatever was making his heart rate increase, slowly—a process he attempted to stop, to save oxygen—was a sea creature.  Its capacity for engagement out of the water was likely to be minimal at best.

He didn't need to try to keep calm, for some reason.  For the past months, he'd been worried, almost exclusively, about his twin—Raj's brother's gang, other humans, other Hindustani threats… they didn't faze him.  Whatever this was didn't greatly worry him either.

It didn't anger him, either.  This creature was not out to hurt him—it was just trying to eat and live, like he did.  This would not stay Freak's paw if he had to defend himself—but he did not hate his enemy.  His feelings were calm, but assertive—his goal was to live, and _he would not be stopped in achieving it_.

Rising, slowly, Freak kept a careful watch over his surroundings.  The boat was not far—seventy feet up, and… perhaps a mile away…

Ahem.  Allow the Lion Sheikh to reassess the situation.  The boat was far, and it would take time to reach it.  So the question, now, was not if he would be attacked—it was _how_.  There was simply no reason to hope to reach the boat before Freak's newest enemy made its move.

Would his enemy come from the bottom, back, sides, or head on?  Since the li-tigon hadn't even yet seen what was still, surely, stalking him—he couldn't speculate.  For now, the best strategy was to make for the boat, quickly, but calmly, and keep his guard up.

He'd been presumptuous, though, and that meant that the first time he saw his foe, it was about ten feet from him.  Freak was close to the surface, by then, and still rising, looking in all directions… except for one.

He hadn't prepared for an attack from the surface.

The one thing that gave him just a second of foresight was a soft, fluid splash, far into the distance before him—he turned in that direction, staring into the murky depths.  Listening, hard, he was taken completely off guard when his massive attacker crashed through the water's surface, bearing down at him.

Strangely enough, Freak didn't simply see a blur and react, as he would have so many other times in his life.  Rather, he managed to get a good look at his enemy—damn, was it a beast.

It was bigger than he was by a factor of at least two, and shaped like a torpedo, for speed.  It was bulky, though, but not fat—every pound of weight on its frame was muscle or nerve or tooth.  Its two-toned form—white on the bottom, gray on top—was camouflaged, perfectly; Freak knew that he'd have a hard time seeing it again.  He'd have to rely on his instincts to keep him safe.

Its jaws were massive, and lined with row after row of triangular, serrated teeth, built to slice flesh and bone alike apart.  The gaping hole that was its mouth was as black and endless as the depths below Freak—he wouldn't allow himself to experience either chasm.

Somehow, the li-tigon moved aside, but not entirely.  One of the creature's seemingly ubiquitous teeth sliced along his forearm, penetrating no more than a centimeter or two into flesh.  Effortlessly, though, it tore through his fur and muscle—clouds of blood quickly spilled into the water, and as a predator, Freak knew that was bad.  Now, his enemy was excited—it had achieved first blood.

More worryingly, Freak had struck back—a powerful, clawed slash across what might have been called the creature's cheek.  But the attack had absolutely no affect—no contusion, no cuts, nothing.  The massive beast's course wasn't even altered in the slightest by the blow.

Its skin, it seemed, was too tough for Freak's claws to easily penetrate.  It would take a concentrated, very specific effort to damage an animal like this.  The li-tigon kept his eye on the ball, though—once his enemy shot past him, disappearing into the depths, again, he continued to swim towards the boat—this time, prepared for an attack from any direction.

For a brief moment, Freak popped his head above the surface of the water to refresh his lungs—he didn't call for help, though.  There was nothing either Uvuli or Kochai could do to assist him, not without putting themselves in danger.

Disappearing below the surface of the water again, he swam with a bit more haste than he had before.  The more time he spent fighting, the more he'd tire himself, and the farther away the boat would get.  His wound burned, due to the salinity of the sea, but he ignored it—it was irrelevant.

Determination hastened his pace, and, quickly, he was nearly alongside the boat.  There was another flicker of motion, just outside his normal field of vision, though—he was going to be attacked again.  Hoping that he'd be able to grab something, Freak jumped out of the water.

* * *

Sleeping was one of Kochai's favorite activities, but so was investigating things—particularly in the middle of the night.

She sat up, stretched once, and then stood.  Uvuli was still fast asleep, just next to her—the hyena was difficult to see in the darkness, due to her black fur, but Kochai didn't rely on sight alone to formulate her worldview.  She could smell and feel the other female, as well as the gentle waves of body heat she emitted.

Camouflage was not something the tigress was naturally gifted with, due to her fair coat.  Her mother had had it worse, though—and if she could overcome such a flaw, so would her daughter.  There were, after all, advantages to not sporting one of the various orange-rust shades that other tigers did; among them was the ability to surprise an opponent simply by showing herself.

Allowing her mind to wander, a bit, Kochai patrolled the edge of the deck.  Freak was still swimming, apparently; the fanatic didn't seem to register fatigue as acutely as sane beings did.  She didn't worry about her big brother, though—in her opinion, he was invincible.

A slight splash in the distance, towards the rear of the boat, made her turn.  Freak, it seemed, was working on silently exiting the ocean.  Bypassing the ship's unmanned control room, Kochai stood on her hind legs, resting her paws on the railing's second rung, peering across the dark blue, almost black water.  Where was he?

She was looking for Freak—but when she saw him, she jumped back in fright.  The li-tigon looked absolutely terrifying, leaping out of the water at his best speed, trailing water, and a red fluid that was undoubtedly blood.  He looked determined, but confident—the moment his eyes met Kochai, though, that changed.

He was about to say something, or perhaps his jaw just dropped in shock—and fear.  It was hard to be sure, though, which emotion in particular was at fault for the li-tigon's loss of cool.  Because, hardly a heartbeat after he shot out of the water, causing Kochai to nearly backflip in surprise, he was attacked.

The tigress could seen only a massive gray and white blur, at first, as it rose from the water, far, far faster than Freak could ever hope to.  Jaws open, it made for her big brother—the li-tigon had no time to turn and face his foe, but he somehow managed to use the incredible power in his forelegs to hold its jaws open, preventing them from clamping shut on him.

Still, he was smashed into the ship's hull with enough force to leave a visible dent.

Kochai was screaming, by then.  Somehow, though, she managed to hear what Freak said next, even as he started to slide back underwater, still wrestling with his foe.  The giant fish-like being's eyes were dark, hollow, merciless, except for when it attacked—then, coyingly white covers slid over them, protecting them from assault.  Freak's attacks didn't make his foe flinch

His words, therefore, didn't make sense.  Kochai was left dumbstruck, as the li-tigon disappeared below water, again, while Uvuli raced to her side.

"Don't help me," he'd said.  "Don't help me…"

* * *

It seemed that, in fact, Freak's claws could penetrate the tough hide of his enemy, if the proper amount of force was applied.  That golden amount, it seems, was, simply, incomprehensibly high.

The li-tigon's forelegs felt like rubber in comparison to the might of his enemy, but he held out.  Snarling in effort, he managed to keep the icthyoid's teeth from scissoring him in two.  Unfortunately, though, he could do almost nothing to prevent himself from being pushed down, and down, and down, farther into the depths than he'd ever been before.

Soon, there was no light—soon, there was just pressure, from the water around him, and his enemy's jaws.

Then, there wasn't even that.

Freak was low on air; his first priority was to get to the surface.  The problem was that now, he had no idea which direction the surface was in…

Looking around, everywhere, was fruitless.  Not even the slightest ray of light reached the li-tigon, and, worse, the intense pressure exerted on him from all directions was starting to crush the air from his lungs.  The magnitude of forces on him were nearly enough to compress his entire body into a soda can.

It was difficult to move, let alone with speed, in a position like this.  The li-tigon could almost feel his enemy's satisfaction as it circled him, gleefully, considering how to execute the final blow with the focused interest of the connoisseur.

Freak changed tactics, then.

Simply picking a direction to swim in was pointless, he was as likely to doom himself by swimming downwards.  He'd never notice a change in pressure until it was too late, and, he suspected, any sort of supernatural protection given to him in Hindustan, or the Land of the Spirits, wouldn't apply in international territory.

The only thing was to do was to wait for an attack.

His enemy wasn't stupid; Freak knew this.  He'd been pushed down for a very, very good reason—the vicious animal knew that, as a land animal, he couldn't survive for long at such depths.  So, all the li-tigon had to do was wait for the next attack, and use its direction as a frame of reference.

The wait wasn't long.  A few seconds after he'd formulated his plane, that familiar, white and gray figure appeared, racing directly towards him.

Now, Freak decided to be pro-active.  He swam towards his foe, rapidly—the beast didn't stop and think and wonder what was going on, though; it wasn't _that_ smart.  Its purpose was singular, overpowering, and, not coincidentally, one that it was very well adapted to achieving—killing, and eating.

It wasn't easy to dodge the next bite, though Freak saw it coming—his lack of energy, oxygen, and the depth at which he was operating made it a close call.  Uselessly, though, his foe plummeted past him, flailing in a pointless attempt to stop—the li-tigon had just bought himself some time, which he used to rise, rapidly.

Or so he thought.

His eyes, somehow, had adjusted to the nearly absolute lack of light.  Minuscule, bioluminescent beings, that he would have marveled at in a less stressful time, slowly came into view.  Static, they floated, endlessly, somehow subsiding in these dark, crushing depths.

As the li-tigon moved… they grew in both size and frequency.

He was going deeper.

And now he was starting to feel it.  Fortunately, he didn't have many of the socialized responses to adversity that many did—if he'd gasped, he would have died, then and there.  The slight jolt felt by his body due to the realization, though, assisted the water's pressure in finally squeezing the last of the air from Freak's lungs.

Without any fight left in him, the li-tigon floated, uselessly, in the water.  Naturally, he floated, just a little, but he wouldn't make it to the surface soon enough to matter.  Out of sheer boredom, and to avoid dwelling on the fact that, surely, he'd at last met his match, Freak noted, dryly, that he felt the most pain on his eyes—they'd actually somewhat contracted into his skull.

Hopelessness was not the emotion the li-tigon felt—apathy was more like it.

Until, of course, he realized something—or, rather, a few things.

_"I haven't said goodbye to Kochai, or Uvuli… or anyone else."_

_"My homeland still faces an existential threat."_

_"I have many lessons to teach to others… and many more left to learn."_

There was simply too much left for Freak to do for him to allow himself to die yet.  His apathy was unacceptable—he had to live, at least for some time yet.  As he resumed his struggle, somehow finding it within him to kick, hard, turning, moving back towards the surface, another bit of unfinished business crossed his mind.

_"I have not yet started a family."_

Another attack.  But this time, Freak knew how to counter it.

This time, the beast rushed him from the side.  Rather than simply dodging, though, or attempting to again hold its jaws open, Freak took advantage of his enemy's speed… and the toughness of its skin.

The li-tigon extended his claws, and moved his body out of the way—again, barely.  His paws raced across the animal's snout, but then stopped, as his claws caught hold in its skin.  Then, Freak was pulled along with the beast, as it shook itself, viciously, trying to dislodge him.

For dear life, Freak held on.  This wasn't good, though—he had no idea where he was going; and if this creature died too far from the boat, he'd be sunk.  The li-tigon pulled, though—and, in response, to minimize the agonizing pain of his claws in its flesh, the creature raced upwards.

Freak smiled—he'd won.

* * *

Again, he left the water with stunning speed, making directly for the boat.

This time, though, Freak wasn't alone.

And, it seemed, he'd left the sea with a little too much force.

His goal had been to ditch the giant fish-like creature midair, putting it back in the ocean and him back on the boat.  Unfortunately, though, it crashed into the rails at the sides of the deck crashed _through_ the rails at the sides of the deck, bouncing across the metal surface, like him, gasping,  like him, convulsing, bleeding, but still very dangerous to both Uvuli and Kochai, unlike him.

Hardly taking a second to get some much-needed oxygen back into his lungs, Freak rolled to his feet—he was panting, exhausted, and having a hard time seeing, due to the amount of salt in his eyes and the fact that his vision wasn't adjusted for the gentle starlight present above water.  But he still knew his priorities.

He didn't have the power to knock the loathsome beast back into the sea, and he didn't know how to kill it without risking grave bodily injury.  Perhaps, though, there was a third way.

The li-tigon kicked a nearby crate, hard, at its very top—this knocked it to the side, a few degrees, for just long enough for him to get down, roll, sliding underneath it.  He'd never lifted this one before… but now, Freak had no choice.  The creature's vicious, arcing gyrations were bringing it closer and closer to Uvuli and Kochai, who didn't dare go into the water, for fear of encountering another sea monster.

In an impossible brief period of time, Freak exerted several times the necessary force necessary to lift the crate up.  Resultantly, it was thrown into the air, in a perfect parabolic arc…

Before coming down on the predator's head.

There was no grotesque splatter, and no real gore.  Just a loud, brutal _crunch_, as the animal's upper quarter was flattened from three feet to less than an inch in the space of a second.  The presence of cartilage instead of bone skeleton, clearly, was disadvantageous.

Freak's muscles were completely depleted; he almost collapsed to the deck in exhaustion, panting.  He coughed, a few times, bringing up seawater he didn't know he had in him—but he smiled, for some reason.  It had been some time since he'd taken on a foe so much more dangerous than him.  The fact that he'd one was a much-needed ego boost.

Finally convinced that the leviathan that had launched itself onto the boat was dead after a few moments, Uvuli and Kochai raced to Freak—had he survived his victory?  From a distance, he sure looked dead.

As they approached, though, both females realized that yes, in fact, the li-tigon was very alive.  He was just exhausted.

"How the He—what the fu—you got some explaining to do, dude.  Later," Uvuli said, wriggling herself under the li-tigon's form.

"Yes.  Yes, I do," Freak said, noting the ease with which she hefted his much larger, much heavier form off that roughed section of the deck, to the area they used for sleeping.   "But I do have something to tell you right now, before I forget."

Kochai was following, closely, incapable of tearing her eyes away from the monster that Freak had fought and killed.  She almost walked into the li-tigon when he decided that he'd had enough of being carted around like a cub, and started walking on his own four paws, albeit with difficulty.

"What is it, big brother?" the young tigress asked, green eyes briefly flickering away from the now dead beast.  "What needs to be said?"

A strange smile made its way across Freak's face before he answered.

"Goodbye."

* * *

"So, we are left with no other explanation, except that the Season of the Rains is a meteorological phenomenon that affects more than my homeland.  Yes?"

"Sounds good to me."

"Sure."

"It is nice to be in the loop, for once.  You keep many things from me."

The tone of Kochai's voice wasn't accusatory; it was matter-of-factly.  There was no point in denying it, so Uvuli just gave the tigress a guilty smile—Freak shrugged.

"You're too young to be exposed to some parts of reality," the li-tigon explained.  "When you're older… you'll come to know many more things about the world we live in.  I'll see to it… I promise."

It was mid-afternoon, but you'd never know it—the torrents of rain that came down on the boat blotted out the sun, the sky; and it was, at times, hard to see more than a few feet in any direction.  Kochai was forbidden from getting within ten feet of the edge of the deck… though Freak still swam, regularly.

They'd set up a tent, of sorts, using tarps and a few crates for structure and support.  It wasn't very effective, though, and it was lucky that Kochai was a tigress, not a lioness—otherwise, her irritation at the constant wetness would know no bounds.

The li-tigon looked at her.  Did a double-take, then stared at her.  He'd never seen such an expression on her face.

It wasn't anger, not quite.  But it was getting there.

She didn't have to speak up to be heard by the li-tigon, or Uvuli, despite the thunderous ambient noise.  The gray sheets of rain roared as they can down and struck either the ship, or the sea itself, but Kochai's voice was, regardless, soft but intense.

"Big brother… I killed for the first time when I was a week old.  I lost my mother when I was about a year old, but we cannot be sure, as the time around my birth was… dangerous."

Freak's head tilted, a little—he didn't know that.  He was about to ask for details, but Kochai continued.

"I lost my father, and big brother Raj in the same day.  I also lost my homeland just recently.  All I have… is myself and my abilities, and big sister Uvuli, and you.  I've dealt with hardships—real hardships, big brother.  I don't think there's any truth that I can't handle."

She fell silent, for a moment, before smiling widely, and sitting down next to the li-tigon, affectionately nuzzling his shoulder.

"Of course, I could be wrong.  But please keep things in perspective, big brother.  If there are things so bad that you still don't think I can handle knowing them… that's alright."

The heavily censored version of Freak's life was clarified in the moments that followed.  The rainy weather was apt—everything new that she learned was terrible in some way.  She never knew, for instance, that, at birth, Freak's mother had attempted to take his life.  Though shocked and horrified, Kochai seemed mature enough to deal with it, as well as the dozens, or hundreds of other little brutalities that Freak had endured.

By the time the li-tigon was finished talking, though, the rain had stopped.  Cloud cover still blocked the Sun, entirely, and it was too much to hope that their second experience of this Season of the Rains was quite finished.  Freak's story was like the storm they'd just witnessed—hopelessly dark, tumultuous, and endless, at the beginning, but, after blind perseverance, tolerable.  And, as suggested by a brief ray of light that shone through the sky to the boat, perhaps, after that, worth living.

* * *

Chilling out on the ship was nice, and all, and a nice break in the tedium of fanatically preparing the Pride Lands for defense, an act that had largely defined Uvuli's juvenile days.  After so long, though, even she started to get bored.

Freak had trained her up, so now, her fighting skills were that much sharper.  Additionally, she was now able to swim not fifteen but _twenty_ miles—she was keeping fit, but it wasn't enough.

Almost nothing had happened between her and Freak; nothing that she'd wanted, anyway.  It was undeniable that their relationship was a good, strong, positive one—but it was also one that was hard to define.  Did he see her as a friend, or a comrade, or a little sister, or something else, or something more?

Directly asking this question, of course, was an almost certain way to push him away, and that was the opposite of what she wanted.  So, for now, it seemed that Uvuli was forced to stay a step back, and wait for him to either come to her, or show her how she could come to him.

Talk about frustrating.

Still, Uvuli had to admit, being alone with Freak on the boat—save for Kochai, of course—was pleasant.  She could speak to him whenever she wanted, about practically anything and, resultantly, she'd learned a lot about Freak.  She'd already known that he wasn't nearly as cold, solitary, and emotionless as he came off, but the more time she spent around him, the more she understood how misleading initial judgments could be.

Once, after returning from a brief, early morning swim that got her blood flowing for the day, she'd happened upon him and Kochai playing.  The kitten was fighting his paw—on her back, she clung to his foreleg, gently nipping at his massive, padded appendage, as the li-tigon easily rolled her around, lifted her off the ground, sometimes rough, never enough to harm her.

It was cute, yes, and a suggestion of what sort of father he might someday make.  But in his eyes, then, Uvuli saw a strange sense of longing—she felt certain that he was imagining himself, as a cub, playing with his father, or mother, or perhaps another relative, or perhaps an adoptive big brother or sister of his own in a similar manner.

Uvuli couldn't easily imagine what Freak might be like if he'd had a normal cubhood.  He'd probably be a lot more talkative, among other things.  He probably wouldn't be the incredible fighter that she knew—living in a pride would have removed the necessity for such prowess.

After a moment, she playfully tackled the li-tigon, to give Kochai some respite.  Freak glanced at the hyena once, then dramatically fell over.  He hesitated, for a second, before putting up token resistance in response to her attack.  Quickly, though, the joint efforts of her and Kochai overwhelmed him, and he gave up, conceding defeat by resting on his side, and ceasing to move.

"I'm dead," the li-tigon said unnecessarily, in a very serious tone, as Kochai cheekily tugged at his ear.  "You two were too much for me… I couldn't take it."

"Victory is ours," Kochai said triumphantly.  "Excellent teamwork, big sister.  Together, we've taken down big brother—we are unstoppable."

Uvuli laughed, softly, and sat down next to the two felines.  It was still raining, though not as much as it had been in the previous days.  The omnipresent drizzle that had been as constant as the sea for the past forty hours or so was somewhat troublesome—it decreased their visibility.  And, by Freak's count, it was starting to get time to look for land.

* * *

Land.

Freak had been the one to spot it, late at night, just after Kochai and Uvuli had gone to sleep.  Patrolling the edge of the boat, he'd looked up, by chance, and, over the rise of one wave, had spotted it.

It was at least fifty miles away, but getting closer every hour.  Of course, at such a distance, it was impossible to tell much about it, except that it was there.  Freak's mind froze, completely, then started working at hyperspeed.

Pride Rock was several dozen miles inland from the coast, as were either the Eastern or Western Volcanoes.  Still, though, such geological features were likely visible, even from so far into the sea.   All that was left to do was to keep watch, 24/7, until something came into view… and hope that when it did, they were closer to shore.  Because this distance, fifty miles, was impossible to swim.

Freak didn't wake Kochai and Uvuli.  He just sat next to them, not moving, hardly blinking until they woke up, an hour or so prior to sunrise.  At first, they were confused; Kochai circled around to the front of him, inferring from the redness in his eyes that he hadn't slept.

After that, though, Uvuli sighted land—she spent a second confirming it, then pointed it out to Kochai.

Then, like Freak, they sat—static, still, completely attentive, and hopeful for another big sighting, soon.

* * *

They were closer, now, shying outside of that magical fifteen mile boundary that Raj had informed them of.  Judging by the Sun and stars, they were going in a southern direction—they'd been hugging the coast of the giant landmass that apparently held the Land of the Spirits for two days, now.

Freak was certain that the first and only landmass they'd come to was their stop—if something else were so, Raj would have told him.  Of course, it was always possible that there'd been a change in courses, or shipments, or something… but Freak had to be hopeful.  If they pulled into a human port town… then they'd have to deal with that then.

Déjà vu struck again, but, for once, Freak knew why—his grandmother had explained to him, so long ago, it felt like, how his grandfather had arrived in the Land of the Spirits.  He hoped, though, that he wouldn't arrive home as disheveled and hardly alive as Sher Kahn had, though, so many years ago.

Freak, Uvuli, and Kochai would probably make landfall in the Desert, though.  Directly to the east of the Pride Lands and its visible geographic features was too much uncharted, unexplored land—Freak simply had no time to find his way through it and the threats surely waiting there for him, with two others to care for.  Perhaps someday in the future, he could go on an adventure, just for the sake of it—but for now, his purpose was to get home to the Pride Lands.

The li-tigon wasn't entirely sure when he'd ceased to think of the cave of his birth and juvenile years as his home, and started to think of the Pride Lands as home.  It was sometime during his exile in Hindustan, he believed—perhaps it was during his time with the Dark One that he'd realized how much better it was to spend nights among living beings, instead of skeletons.

Freak had a lot of unfinished business left, he reflected, and, perhaps, he could translate the ferocious defiance he'd felt during his most recent battle into the will to defeat his twin… but he doubted it.  He'd meditated on it many times, now, but he still couldn't feel the desire to protect everything dear to him, by wiping out his own kin.

Ah, well.  He'd have to learn on the fly.

* * *

The crest of Pride Rock was, by far, the tallest point in the Land of the Spirits, and even the surrounding areas as well.  The gradual hill on which it was situated was quite high as well, making it a geographical feature that was impossible to mistake—and equally impossible to miss.

Kochai had heard about it many times, and, frankly, couldn't wait to see it, and climb it, for herself.  She'd grown from the inexpressibly cute kitten Freak had saved from certain death, months ago, both physically and in terms of maturity.  Of course, she was still strikingly beautiful, and would always be—but now, there was a quite sense of calm, control, and kindness about her.  This despite the fact that she was still half of Freak's size.

Still, though, she was turning into her mother in front of the li-tigon's eyes.  His love for her strengthened his resolve to ensure, though, that Kochai never suffered Asal's miserable fate.

Freak was swimming, as usual, this time with Uvuli.  Kochai had just finished, going for eight miles straight, without rest, before she started to falter—she would have kept trying, but Freak had overruled her, and tossed her back up onto the deck without a second thought.  She'd nearly drowned once in front of him—it wasn't an event he was intent to repeat.

After shaking herself dry, Kochai watched Freak and Uvuli move, side by side, easily keeping up with the ship.  The improvements they'd both experienced in such a brief period of time were great, but, then, they did nothing but swim, help Freak practice his combat skills, eat, and sleep.  The voyage was boring, at one level, but the kitten found herself enjoying it on another—existence was simple, and satisfying, particularly in contrast with the chaos that surely awaited them in the Land of the Spirits.

Resting near the edge of the boat, breathing a bit hard, still, Kochai looked up—then froze.

_"A high peak, and a range of volcanoes…"_

To the boat's five o'clock position—the northwest—was the peak.  Just south of that was a range of mountains… topped with smoke, and, unmistakably, fire.  Kochai canted her head—she looked away, for a moment, back over the open water, then back towards what might be the Land of the Spirits.  As her gaze turned back towards it, things seemed to… darken, in a manner that was hard for her to explain or quantify.

"Big brother—please come here, yes?  I think we're—we're at the Land of the Spirits."

"What?"

A second passed, then Freak was on the deck, followed, momentarily, by Uvuli.  The li-tigon followed his young relative's gaze—then spoke, heart in his mouth.

_"We're home.  We've returned."_

"We're south of the Pride Lands—flush with the Desert," Freak found himself saying, rapidly.  "We need to leave immediately."

The afternoon Sun made the water before them shine, glimmer, sparkle—it was almost too bright to look at.  But it was easy to see the crest of every single wave that buffered them from the Land of the Spirits… they were more than fifteen miles away from the distant, sandy shore—the Desert.

Ever since land had been spotted, Freak had purposefully drove down the amount of time and effort he spent training.  Watch had to be kept, day and night, to ensure they didn't pass the Land of the Spirits, and energy had to be preserved for the swim back.  Kochai and Uvuli had stepped up, forcing Freak to sleep, staying awake themselves—after all, they reasoned, he was the strongest swimmer.  If he could get to shore, he could bring them with him as well.

It was a lie…

They'd concocted it when he was diving, once.  It was Kochai's idea—Freak had to be prepared to swim more than they, because they could die—he couldn't.  They wouldn't let him waste any energy hauling them to land, if their bodies gave out—they would allow themselves to drown.

The brutality of this decision was compounded by the fact that death seemed to be a highly likely outcome for both females.  And, just then, both were more than a little sapped from the morning of practicing… they'd spotted Pride Rock at just the wrong time.

They did not have the strength to get to it, and they knew it—but there was no harm in trying.  And neither had the heart to tell Freak, and both knew that, if they did, he'd be the hero—the dumb hero—and force them to come.  Only when he saw for himself the hopelessness of attempting to save them would he abandon them.

"Immediately?" Kochai said softly.

"Yes.  Immediately," the li-tigon replied harshly, mechanically—he'd reverted to the cold, emotionless being that had kept him alive—barely—for the majority of his life.  He didn't notice anything strange about her, or Uvuli.

Good.

_"I suppose I will never find a land with many big brothers and big sisters and aunts and uncles to call my own,"_ Kochai noted, sadly—she sniffed, once, but Freak was moving the cargo crates around, for some reason—he didn't hear her.  _"I suppose… I'll soon join Mother and Father.  That's not so bad…"_

Yes, actually, it would be, at such a young age.  And she couldn't ignore that—quickly, though, she had Uvuli's shoulder to lean on, literally.  Not that the hyena was feeling any better.

"Hey… chin up, shrimp," the older female murmured, softly, nuzzling the top of the kitten's head.  "We might make it—you never know."

The knowing, sad smile Kochai gave Uvuli, then, was as disturbing as it was telling—Kochai really had grown up.

"We might," Uvuli maintained, regardless.  "Let's just… give it our all, okay?  Man..." she sighed, "if only we saw it an hour ago… then we'd both be good.  Funny, isn't it?"

Kochai was crying, then, noiselessly.  But she nodded, burying her face into Uvuli's fur.

Freak finished his work, just then, and, almost instantly, Kochai stopped crying.  He'd pushed the largest crate to the edge of the deck, putting a smaller one just next to it—looking at the females, the li-tigon canted his head.

"Is anything… wrong?" he said.  "You look sad… but we're going home…"

"Just… it's been a nice ride, that's all," Uvuli lied easily, smiling.  "Little Kochai here's just sad to see it over so soon."

"Ah.  Well.  We still need to leave."

Freak bypassed the shorter crate, and leaped directly to the top of the larger one, well over twenty feet into the air.  From the higher vantage point, he could see Pride Rock without obstruction.

After almost being overcome with a feeling of hope and desire, the li-tigon focused on his determination.  They weren't anywhere close to being fifteen miles from land… but, regardless, they would reach the Desert.

Kochai and Uvuli had joined him, by then.  He noticed that they still seemed sad, but brushed it off—at times, females' emotions simply didn't make sense.

"Ready?" the li-tigon asked, still staring at his objective.  He breathed in and out, rapidly, and rhythmically clenched and unclenched his muscles.  This wasn't going to be easy.

"Yeah…"

"Alright, then," Freak murmured.  "Let's go."

A heartbeat later, the li-tigon had sprinted off the crate, and was flying forward, through the air.  He dived towards the water, aerodynamic and powerful, and awe-inspiring, for the two females that soon followed him.  Maybe they could make it home, after all.

* * *

Or maybe not.

As they approached coast, a few things quickly became apparent.

The waves near land were much bigger and more powerful; resisting their influence took more energy than it did out at sea.  Kochai had been dunked, once, but had saved herself without difficulty.  Sputtering, she'd returned to the surface with a grin, for her big brother, but a pained look of dismay for Uvuli.  It didn't look like she'd have the energy to make it.

Worse, there was a quite powerful undercurrent that ran away from land, attempting to pull the three back out to sea.  Freak  was a strong swimmer, and resisted it naturally, only barely noticing it.  Uvuli, though, was exhausted by the time they were ten miles away… and this was saying nothing of Kochai.

"Is everyone alright?" Freak said, looking forward, still, towards either Pride Rock or some nondescript point on the coast.  "There's still quite a ways to go," he added, rather unnecessarily.

"I'm good," and, "I'm fine, big brother," were the li-tigon's replies, though they couldn't be more true.

"Outstanding.  Keep it up," he said, pausing, for a minute, to turn back and face the two females, smiling.  "We're over halfway there."

A wave rose, then, blocking the two females from Freak's view.  Kochai had her opportunity.

Panting, openly, she used a final burst of energy to bring herself to Uvuli's side.  Before her muscles seized up from overuse, she hugged the hyena, tenderly, and nuzzled her in a final goodbye.  Uvuli returned the bittersweet affection, just as Kochai let go.

The young tigress floated, for a moment, motionless in the water.  She didn't seem sad or angry, strangely, just certain of her fate, and waiting to accept it.

Then, she began to sink.

She raised her paw, as if in farewell… but then brought it to her head, meeting Uvuli's eyes in what would be her last salute.

Then, her head dipped below the water.  She was gone.

* * *

_"Still following me… good."_

Freak was surprised, happily so, that he hadn't had to give either of the females a helping hand.  They were strong—he knew this—but he hadn't expected them to be this strong.  The li-tigon turned, to mention this, but then thought better of it and faced forward again.  He didn't want to seem condescending.

Mane trailing behind him, floating on the surface of the water, somewhat, only the li-tigon's head was visible from above the water.  Only the cool darkness of his eyes, and the determination on his angular face were visible—not the powerful, obstinate muscles and limbs that propelled him along, and would continue to do so, until he felt land beneath his paws again.  Friendly, good, righteous, land.

Freak's brow furrowed, suddenly.

_"That's funny, when I turned, I… only saw Uvuli…"_

_"…Kochai must have been behind a wave, or something."_

Then, the li-tigon remembered… when he'd executed that brief doubletake, he'd been at the apex of a wave.  Uvuli had been in the trough… and Kochai, who had, until then, been within feet of her, was still nowhere to be seen.

The tigress must have strayed away, or something.  There was _no chance_ that… anything else had happened.

But Freak had to see his little sister with his own eyes.  He simply had to.

The li-tigon turned again, fully, and, for a second, swam backwards.  Then, he stopped, and simply treaded water, allowing Uvuli to approach.  Now that he looked at her… he could see that she was exhausted.

But where was Kochai?

The hyena got even closer.  And, despite her best efforts, tears were streaming down her face, though she only occasionally, softly sucked in ragged breaths of air.  All at once, she was next to Freak—but she couldn't meet his eyes.  She couldn't.

"Uvuli?..." he began.  "Tell me," he continued, slowly, as if he knew that he didn't want to know the answer, "where is Kochai?"

Uvuli managed to stop crying, for a moment.  She looked up, into the li-tigon's eyes, an expression of fierce defiance on her face, for a second… until she broke down.

"Oh my God, Shujaa… she's… gone…"

Freak stared at her, for a second.  His face transformed, instantly, from simple, albeit somewhat urgent curiosity to outrage.  Uvuli flinched, and, due to this, didn't see him disappear below the surface.

"No!  Shujaa!"

The hyena dived—damn him, couldn't he see what they were doing?  Somehow, Uvuli managed to catch hold of his vanishing tail in her jaws.  She was going to pull him back to the surface and break through that thick skull of his, somehow, and explain that Kochai had to be abandoned.

He slipped away, though, leaving her in his tumultuous wake, to pursue Kochai.  The hyena glanced around, for a moment, before returning to the surface.

"It's been a coupla minutes since she gave up.  Looks like she might die in vain…"

* * *

Four words raced through Freak's mind, over and over again, not necessarily in the following order: Where, is, she, and Kochai.

Now, the li-tigon worked with the current, moving away from land, even as he dove deeper.  His pace was an all-out sprint—even if he had the mental capacity to do so, he wouldn't have held back.  Kochai was down here, somewhere, waiting for him, needing him—he'd saved her from drowning once before.  Today would be no different.

If he could find her.

The hopelessness of his task hit him, suddenly.  Forty feet down, where the darkness started to grow, quickly, to blot out even the vaguest silhouette or outline of a young kitten, he paused, and simply looked around—up, front, back, left, right, down, and everything in between.  He still didn't see her, or any signs of her.

Eyes, it seemed, were useless.  Freak would have to rely on some other capability to find his sister.

Shutting his eyes, tightly, the li-tigon concentrated, or tried to.  His mind was in panic, disarray, and he struggled to bring it into order.

He was unsuccessful.

Roaring, underwater, released a stream of bubbles towards the surface, even as the vibrations caused by the bellow reverberated through the water, for dozens of yards in any direction.  Then, once the li-tigon had rid himself of most of his emotion—all of it, save for his focus on his task—he concentrated again.

He left his body, in a fashion, briefly visiting the consciousnesses of every creature around him.  Tunneling through the water, incomprehensibly fast, the li-tigon knew all, saw all, felt all… except for what he was looking for.  But she had to be there somewhere.

Finally—a purchase, perhaps.  Freak had been looking into the mind of some sort of fish, or something, as it had passed by a small, somewhat pale figure that was, inexorably, sinking.  The li-tigon only caught a glimpse of it, though—was it Kochai, for certain?

He tried to confirm it, because it would be disastrous for all parties if he were to follow a false positive.  There were no other living beings around the figure, though, and Freak had to struggle, for a moment, to ignore the implications of that fact.

Then, though… another presence.  Quickly, Freak entered it—was it Kochai?

Most of its mental functions had shut down, or, more accurately, had been starved of oxygen for too long to operate.  But it still had a few thoughts.  It still had a few desires.

Over fifteen yards underwater, by then, sinking, motionless, the li-tigon's lips started to move.  Started to form words.

"Big… brother… I will miss you…"

_"I've already lost one little sister.  I won't lose another one."_

He had her location, somehow.  She was... one hundred feet or so down, and farther away from land still.  But she was still alive, if barely… and if Freak could get her back to the surface soon, perhaps she'd suffer no permanent damage from this, either.

He couldn't see her, yet, but he could feel her; he knew she was there.  And she knew that he was coming—she spoke to him, somehow, in a kind, calm voice, even as he lunged through the water, mindless of anything but his sister.

_"Big brother… leave me, please.  I can't slow you down… you won't reach home, either, and you must, big brother.  Please… this is not painful, or scary.  Let me go…"_

The li-tigon had nothing—or, rather, nothing appropriate—to say in reply to these sentiments.

He was starting to get deep, now, almost as deep as he'd been when he was attacked.  Darkness and pressure started to close in around the li-tigon, but there was still no sign of Kochai, and her consciousness had slipped away from him—had she fooled him into going in the wrong direction, somehow?

No.  There—there.  Deeper, but sinking still, and a further ten yards from shore.  Kochai.

It took Freak a great deal of force to push through the densely-packed, frigid water here, but he managed to do it.  Grabbing the kitten by the scruff of her neck, the li-tigon wasted no time in turning, and then making directly for the surface—he, too, was losing air.

Once they started to emerge from the depths, the water becoming light and transparent, again, Freak was greeted with the dreadful sight… of another being precious to him sinking, slowly, her descent as unstoppable as Kochai's.

Uvuli had given up as well, but only just.  Freak could only carry one of them back to the surface, back towards land, and could only resuscitate one of them.

So the li-tigon had to choose, then, which one it would be.  Would it be the kitten in his jaws, whose chances of survival were slim to none, or Uvuli, who might have higher odds of living?

Or, would it be neither of them?

Or, Freak considered, numbly, as he, too, started to sink, just as far below the surface as Uvuli, by then, would he simply die with them?

* * *

Waking up from any sort of ordeal is always unpleasant, but half-drowning from fatigue and exhaustion, doubly so. First, there's the irritating feeling of salt clinging to your eyes; but you're unlikely to notice this—mostly, there's a heaving, gagging sensation as you bring up some of the seawater in you.

Groaning, she wondered if she'd died—no, actually, she accepted that she'd died, and wondered where she was.  It certainly wasn't Heaven—probably—but Hell was fiery, not watery.  Or, perhaps, the Hell of all those that found their end on the high seas was just that—the high seas.

Panting, a little, she choked, again, as a sudden wave dipped her head underwater—then, she sighed.  All eternity was going to be spent like this, eh?... what a pain.  If only she'd been better…

"Among the living again, I see."

That voice…

"H-huh?" she murmured, too worn out to do much else.

"Good."

Slowly, her eyes started to readjust to the light, as she blinked, slowly, ridding their surfaces of salinity and debris.  Her forelegs… they were wrapped around his neck.

She'd been chosen, it seemed, in favor of a female just as precious to him as she was.  This knowledge was empowering, despite everything… but…

"So… Kochai, she's…?"

Uvuli didn't need to finish the phrase.  She didn't need to hear the answer, either—not even Freak could have saved the young tigress by the time he'd found out about her.

"She's right here."

The hyena's eyes shot open, and she searched, for a moment, but she didn't have to look far.  Freak was carrying his waterlogged, light furred relative in his own forelegs, and swimming with his hind legs alone—the process of course, was slow, and surely doomed in failure.  So little power was devoted to moving so much forward—this was madness.

Despite her exhaustion, Uvuli managed to get her forelegs to twitch—that was all.  Suddenly, though, Freak snarled.

"Don't you _dare_," he hissed, "let go."

Uvuli was intimidated, and complied, clinging to his thick, muscular neck just a little tighter.  Burying her face into the soft, comforting fur at the li-tigon's shoulders, she shut her eyes, again—but she still had her style.

"Or… what?" the hyena female murmured.

Freak had nothing in particular to say in response to this ridiculous question.  He just growled, deep in his throat, until Uvuli let out a tired laugh.

"Shujaa…" she murmured, reaching around him to idly stroke at Kochai, "why?... we gave up… so that you could get home, you know.  You're not gonna be able to carry us all the way to shore… just let go, okay?  It's okay… we still love you, Shujaa... at least… I do…"

Damn.  Even in such a situation, she couldn't bring herself to say it straight.

"I love you too," he replied, resentfully, but still making Uvuli's heart leap, for a second, "that's why I'm not going to let you go."

Silence, for a moment.  She thought he was finished speaking, until he continued, in a tone so sad and dejected that it almost hurt to hear.

"Come on, Uvuli… you didn't think about me at all, did you?  How would I live, without you and Kochai?  What… would I do with my days?  I've lived alone before… you don't know how terrible it is… that solitude..."

"You'd have… other people around… everyone else in the Pride Lands…"

"But I wouldn't have you.  I'd be in solitude from you… I can't live in solitude from anyone that I love.  Least of all you two—you made this bloody voyage bearable.  What would I do on a boat without you two to keep me busy?... Imagine that, for a second."

Briefly, Uvuli was visited by an image of Freak sitting, eating, sleeping, and training on a mechanical, robotic schedule for the entirety of the trip.  She laughed again, quietly.

"You're starting to… get an accent, dude… 'bloody'… heheh… FOB…"

"I think people from Hindustan sound distinguished," the li-tigon replied, in a hurt-sounding tone.  "Bloody cruel of you to belittle me like this, madam."

The hyena laughed out loud, for a moment.  Freak's social skills had improved by leaps and bounds, over the time she'd known her, but she'd never, ever dreamed of him being so lighthearted for even a second, not in a thousand years—yet, here he was, sharing happy banter with her.

"S-so… how's… the crustacean?..."

"Not well, I'm afraid.  I did to her what I did to you, but she still hasn't woken up…"

Uvuli pulled herself up, somehow, looking down at Kochai.  She was motionless, and it didn't seem likely that that would be changing anytime soon.  The young feline had doubtlessly gotten more water in her lungs than she had, and this was to say nothing of oxygen deprivation, particularly to the brain.  Kochai wouldn't be the same… if she lived.

She was breathing, though—barely.  Terribly, the hyena wondered—was the little feline she'd come to think of as a little sister… was Kochai brain-dead?  Would she never wake up?

Shutting her eyes, a grimace on her expression, Uvuli had her answer—she simply didn't want to think about things, not for the moment.  All she wanted to do was to sit back, mentally, and let Freak carry her to a different reality.

Soon, though, that started to seem less and less likely.

It was incredible that he'd resisted the undertow for so long, but the effort of carrying along so much extra baggage, so to speak, was starting to take its toll.  Freak was having a hard time keeping the pace he was—and if he decreased it, they would end up moving away from shore.  To get there, he'd have to move at least as fast as he was moving, for another five miles… and that didn't seem like it was going to happen.

"I guess it wouldn't do me any good to ask you to let go, eh?" Uvuli said.

Freak didn't answer.  He simply kept swimming, ignoring the complaints and protests his muscles started to give him—he'd come too far, by then, to consider giving up.

Uvuli sighed, and, shaking, started to move her forelegs, again.

"Uvuli, if you let go, I'll rescue you again.  That's a waste of energy, and we're only going to make it barely, as it is.  I can't afford to cut things close…"

The cards were on the table, it seemed.  She couldn't sacrifice herself, or he'd prevent her—Freak was negotiating, it seemed, holding a gun to his own head.  And, damn him, it was working.

"Well… I guess I'll hang on, then.  Just for you…"

"Good."

Uvuli left him alone, for a moment, while she considered her options.  Giving up wasn't something she was used to doing, but, quickly, she realized, she didn't really have a choice.  Freak was going to take her—and Kochai—to shore… or he was going to die.  Her only course of action, therefore, seemed obvious.

The arts weren't greatly encouraged in her homeland, not after the fascist that ended up having her mother killed came to power.  In fact, they were actively discouraged—anyone caught promoting the ancient tribal dances and ceremonies that had once defined their culture had been executed.

Still, though, some had been defiant.  And her mother had been one of them… for just long enough to teach her daughter one song.

Uvuli wasn't a good singer, not really.  She hadn't had the chance to practice, much, and, surely, she remember at least one or two parts of it incorrectly, but that was irrelevant.  What was important was that she was sharing her mother's last gift with Freak, just then, as he carried her and Kochai back home.  Hopefully, it would be enough to make his venture successful, because it was the last advantage he was getting—from here on out, he was on his own.

* * *

"Just let go, Shujaa…"

"No."

"Please…

"No."

"I'll hunt for you for the next two weeks…"

"No—how?"

"You'll see…"

"No.  And you're making me waste energy by talking."

Once set on a goal, it seemed, Freak couldn't be shaken from it, no matter how far-fetched it was.

Shore wasn't getting any closer, and it wouldn't, either.  The li-tigon could simply no longer move fast enough to overcome the increased flow of the current beneath them—they were stuck in a standstill, and, soon, their advances would be reversed.  Soon, Freak would collapse out of sheer fatigue, or hopelessness, when he finally grappled with the fact that the Land of the Spirits, as close as it was, was out of reach.

Exhaustion was starting to set in, and Freak couldn't ignore it—he tried to change tactics, swimming to the north, then south, but the undertow was equal in all regions.  There was no escaping it.

He hadn't let go of Kochai, either.  And he never would, although the young tigress was still unconscious, dead weight in his paws.  She was silent, too, heartbreakingly so… it really did look like she'd never wake up.

Uvuli tried to help Freak by kicking her legs, a bit, but if this had any effect on their situation, they couldn't tell—they were as motionless as ever.

For Freak, the effort of moving, or trying to, became as constant and shapeless as the water around him.  His mind wandered, after he tried, and failed, to motivate himself into fighting through the stiffening of his muscles, toying with distant, vague possibilities—any images that filtered through the haze of his consciousness were abstract, far cries from reality.

Out of simple curiosity, the li-tigon tried to leave his own body again—he couldn't enter Uvuli's consciousness, though.  Floating around, it seemed, a moment passed before he found himself in a familiar setting…

* * *

_"This is the Sacred Mesa.  Why…?  How?"_

"Kochai."

He turned, though not out of any will of his own—he was still working on figuring out his precise locations.  It seemed that he was very close to the center of the mesa, but he couldn't, and wouldn't be certain, it seemed.  Soon, his vision was filled with not the curving vines and trees of the forest… but with something else.

_"Nasher?  How?"_

The older feline was smiling down at him—since when was he that big?  Freak tried to look around, a little, but couldn't—he was trapped, in a way.  Not that he minded seeing his recently departed relative much…

_"Since when does he address me as Kochai?"_

It was then that Freak realized—he wasn't in a currently existing reality, nor one generated by his own mind.  He was in a memory.

"Yes, Father?"

She always was affectionate.  It was a bit different, though, to be on this side of one of her ubiquitous cheekrubs.

Looking far up at the tiger, Freak felt humbled—he'd never appreciated, really, how amazing of a being Nasher was.  Or, perhaps, his view, just then, was biased—that was likely.  Kochai, after all, greatly loved her father—she always had.

"Can you tell me… why is your mother a better fighter than I am?  I can't figure it out—I'm certain that I'm stronger, and quicker… it's got me beat."

_"'Is'?"_

He—or, rather, Kochai—canted her head, a little, wondering why Nasher would ask such a question.  For her, her mother's combat superiority was simply something she took for granted.  After a moment, though, the kitten had her answer, and delivered it brightly.

"It's simple, Father—she's more stubborn than you are in this way.  Yes?  For example, if struck, you would back away and prepare for another attack, yes?  This is sometimes wise… but Mother will usually ignore her own pain and fear, and keep attacking.  This is why she usually wins…"

"I see," Nasher said, somewhat grumpily.  "Bloody hypocrite, always saying that I'm an 'obstinate atheist'…"

"But, dear Father, you are—"

"Hush."

Kochai didn't feel sad, though—shortly after that curt word, her father playfully knocked her over.  Then, Freak was finally able to experience, in a fashion, what he would have if either of his own parents had lived to see his cubhoood—he watched paws that might have been his grip the powerful limb in front of him, felt teeth that might have been his graze its appendage…

He laughed.  Kochai giggled.  Then, though, playtime was over.

She followed him, then, playing, as always, by taking the effort to hop around, copying the positions of his massive paws perfectly.  Freak wondered where they were going, then decided that it didn't matter, at least, not to Kochai—she would always follow those that she loved without question or hesitance.

"So… perhaps I should be a bit more hard-headed.  What do you think about that, daughter?"

* * *

"It sounds wise to me…"

"Mm?  Say somethin', Shujaa?"

"I—no, I don't think that I did."

"Huh.  How'd you like the song?"

"Beautiful," he answered immediately.  "Truly."

"Really?  Thanks.  By the way—how are you speeding up?  Don't you have, like, nothing left?"

"Yes," Shujaa admitted.  "I suppose so."

The li-tigon didn't explain things further, after that.  All he did was focus on the distant, but approaching shore… and the fact that he wasn't the one that had begun the conversation.

Kochai was.

* * *

"Gah… I don't think I've ever had such a horrible entrance…"

"I certainly have.  When I came into Hindustan…"

"Well… we're back.  Damn… is all of the Desert like this?"

"Of course not.  Most of it's less wet."

"Great…"

They were back.

Their return, of course, was less than flashy—Freak had propelled them to shore with a hairsbreadth margin of error.  Panting, the li-tigon had hauled himself to dry ground, ignoring how much of a pain it would be to get the sand out of his fur, once it stuck there.  Uvuli was, by then, well enough to pull Kochai along, setting the kitten to rest between her and Freak.

Even as they moved, the Sun beat down on them hard, almost instantly vaporizing any moisture left on them—welcome to the Desert.  They were hot, wet, exhausted, hungry, thirsty, and mentally fatigued… but they were home.

Exhausted, they lay as they were, side by side, for just a moment.  Uvuli laughed, several times; Freak just smiled.  Somehow, the feat they'd just accomplished looked more impressive in hindsight.  They'd defeated an ocean, it seemed.  Perhaps defeating Kifo was possible as well.

* * *

Freak's eyes flickered open what must have been several hours later.   It was late afternoon, and Uvuli and Kochai were still sleeping, still next to him—good.

Satisfied with things, for the moment, the li-tigon stood, then made his way back into the nearby ocean.  His paws tracked deep, well-defined tracks into the wet sand behind him, until he was deep enough to submerge himself in the somewhat caustic saltwater.

After a few moments of simply staying still, allowing the waves to roll over him, Freak left the water again, for the last time that day—he was clean.  Then, for the first time in months, he looked over the Land of the Spirits.

There wasn't much to see where he was—just several dozen square miles of rolling dunes and sand.  The Desert, at least, hadn't changed during his absence.  The Sun was low in the sky, by then, with several hours yet to go before it set—thusly, the sky was still bright and clear and blue.

The li-tigon was suddenly almost overwhelmed with a sense of accomplishment—he'd been sent to one of the most hostile environments to beings like him on Earth… and he'd lived.  Not just that, but he'd prospered, in a sense—he was back home stronger and smarter and better equipped for the fight that would determine the fate of the Land of the Spirits forever.  He truly was blessed.

Freak was tempted to contact his parents, at the very least, to tell them that he'd returned.  Now, though, wasn't the time, nor the place—his eyes narrowed.  Perhaps the Desert had changed over his absence…

After he'd gotten over the initial rush of realizing, on a gut level, having been simply too exhausted to do so upon his immediate arrival, that he was home, Freak saw that the lands—the Desert, at least—had suffered.

The sky was cloudless, but the Sun… simply wasn't as bright and flawless as Freak remembered it.  The Sun here was like it was in the vicinity of the city, back in Hindustan—it was blocked, somewhat, by a lingering, foul presence in the air.  Freak couldn't smell it, but he knew it was there.

_"That's certainly a threat… and I don't think it's my twin.  I'll have to find out… I'll have to ask Simba.  Or Rafiki.  And, to do that..."_

"I have to get back to the Pride Lands."

He smiled, briefly, but honestly.  Then, he looked back to the two females that had made his journey bearable—enjoyable, even.  Exhilaration threatened to take over, again—Kochai… she'd finally have her chance to be around any number of new friends, new loving faces, new relatives.  And everyone, no doubt, would be relieved to see that Uvuli was alive and well.

_"And me… I wonder if they've missed me?... I wonder… how they'll greet me…"_

The li-tigon wasn't an overly emotional being.  Just then, though, he was justified in allowing just a drop, or two—or a little more—of wetness enter his eyes.  Similarly, he was justified in dropping to his knees and kissing the ground—he was home.

After staying where he was, for a few moments, muscles flexed, due to his posture, Freak stood.  The wind kicked up for a moment, courtesy of the sea—a wave rolled in, hissing, slightly, before dissipating just next to his feet.  He looked at his shadow, for a moment, before him—tail flicking, slightly, he could see that he had grown.

Would anyone in the Pride Lands even recognize him?  His eye color had changed, as had his fur color, along with the intensity of his stripes, the nature of his mane, and any number of other physical features about the li-tigon—and that was to say nothing of the manner in which he now conducted himself.  Now, he wouldn't hesitate to say, when he met them, how much he'd missed them as well.  Now, he knew that emotions weren't necessarily weakness.

Movement—it was nothing, though, he noted, immediately after turning, instantly, far more quickly than he was capable of the last time he'd been in the neighborhood.  Just Kochai…

She'd stirred in her sleep, and, a moment later, Freak realized what that meant.  He shut his eyes, thanking his superiors because of it—the Spirits really were with him.

* * *

"Stop…"

"Then wake up."

Instead of stopping, the insistent nudging at her side simply grew—she whined, then growled, a bit, turning around to bat at whatever was touching her, somewhat irritated.

"Leave me alone; I'm very tired…"

"From what, Kochai?  Think about it, please..."

_"No, thank you, I do not think that I will…"_

Subconsciously, though, she did wonder—what had she done to exhaust herself?

Freak watched, knowingly, as his young cousin remained still, for a moment, breathing in and out, softly.  Then, suddenly, and predictably, she jumped up, springing into the air, eyes wide—before she could do anything hasty, though, he'd grabbed her, with a paw, and forced her to look at him.

"You're alright.  Calm down—no, Kochai," the li-tigon said, holding, a little tighter, as the kitten attempted to escape, hyperventilating in terror.  "Calm down… you're alright.  Shhh..."

He released her.  And, a moment later, she did relax, though not by much.  Green eyes searching his, for an answer, after she'd turned around, examining her surroundings, she suddenly hid next to him, wary of an incoming threat, it seemed.  It touched Freak—she saw him as a source of safety.  As a protector.

"Wh-what happened?  Where are we, big brother?" she said, pressing herself against his side, as if to make sure that if a speedy escape needed to be made, she wouldn't be forgotten.  "Where's the boat?"

"We don't need the boat anymore, Kochai."

He simply looked down at her, after that, waiting for her to understand what that meant.  And, a moment later, she stopped searching the surrounding areas for some approaching demon—and looked up at him, eyes wide.

"So… we have… this is the Land of the Spirits?"

The li-tigon nodded.  "Disappointed?" he said.  "I would have picked a better location… but there wasn't much choice.  Are you alright, Kochai?  You almost drowned…"

She didn't reply, and, instead, simply took two steps forward.  Freak understood—he would have been curious, if he was in her position, as well.  But, it seemed, the li-tigon didn't know his relative as well as he thought he did—she knew her priorities.

Kochai's destination wasn't the nearby rise, from which one could doubtlessly obtain a truly incredible view of the Desert that had once been Freak's home.  First, she made her way to Uvuli's side, checking that the hyena was alright—obviously, this was so.

After that, though, she slowly made her way up the dune.  Freak followed her—she glanced back, once, to make sure that he was there; apparently, she was less than confident outside of her home turf.

_"Good,"_ the li-tigon thought.  _"It'll be a learning experience for her… as leaving everything familiar behind was for me."_

"Wo-o-o-ow…" Kochai said quietly, a moment later—until then, she'd been wordlessly surveying the Desert.  The size of the region was difficult for her to grasp—her homeland was a patchwork of different environmental zones.  A single geographic feature of this size was, to her, something almost inconceivable.

The tigress looked to the south, then the north—first the Wet Forest, then the twin mountain ranges that isolated the Jungle.  She stood as tall as she could, trying to see more than a glimpse of green over the top of the distant, still bright blue waterfall that had once been the li-tigon's method of accessing the Bloody Shadows.

"And is that where you lived, big brother?" she said, suddenly turning to face Freak.  After waiting for an answer, for a moment, she tilted her head, bright green eyes searching his.

"Why are you looking at me in that manner?  Is there something on my fur?"  The kitten proceeded to check herself, all over, for any discoloration or clinging debris.  Her obsessive mannerisms would, no doubt, instantly win her favor among the rest of the females of the Pride Lands.

"No, not at all," Freak replied.  He then took two large steps towards Kochai, and, gently, proceeded to play with her, allowing her to use her teeth against his thick, protective mane.  "I've… imagined you here before.  Many times.  But I never really imagined that I'd actually see you here… if that makes sense."

"Certainly it does, big brother," Kochai giggled.  She continued the battle, for a few moments, before giving up, mostly out of exhaustion.

Somewhat guiltily, Freak simply sat next to her, and allowed her to rest her cheek against him for several moments.

"Being here is like a dream for me, also," the tigress said.  "I never imagined… that I might actually be here.  This is so exciting… very soon, I will be among any number of other females—yes?"

The li-tigon nodded in affirmation, though with only half a mind.  His concentration was already on the future—a simulacrum of a plan had already formed, but implementation, he felt, couldn't wait.

"I can't wait," Kochai purred quietly.  "I promise that I will be the best little sister ever…"

For a few moments, the two felines remained where they were, apparently surveying the Desert.  Kochai's mind was on the Pride Lands—she was, wishfully, imagining herself being allowed to hunt with big sisters and aunts, as Freak had told her was the strategy lionesses used to take prey down.  Freak, though, was focusing on the oncoming war.

"Wake your big sister up, Kochai," the li-tigon said, feeling her look up at him—his gaze didn't shift, though.  "It's time to move."

* * *

"Ugh… why do we have to move so quickly?  This is exhausting…"

"Why complain?  It only makes things worse, yes?"

"Hush, shrimp."

"Very well, big sister."

Freak really was pushing them hard—after only five minutes of getting situated, Uvuli had been told that it was time to go.  Apparently, they couldn't spare an hour, or an afternoon to rest.  On an academic level, the hyena could appreciate that… but it wasn't going to stop her from whining.

"Man, your grandma's crazy, Shujaa… living in a place like this… sheesh.  How do you tell if you've been going in circles or now?"

They'd been on the move for an hour, now, but still, every dune they came to looked like the one preceding it.  Such monotony failed to awe Uvuli quickly—now she was just tired.

It was almost dusk, but there was still an hour of sunlight left.  Gentle, cooling breeze floated across the landscape at intervals ranging from one minute to five, caressing the sand kicked up by the trio's motion for several yards before setting it down just as smoothly as it had lifted it.

Moonlight was scarce, but starlight no longer was.  The ominous, hovering entity that had blocked out the Heavens until just moments earlier seemed to have left—Freak looked up, for a moment, tossing some of his mane out of the way.  The li-tigon saw no supernatural entities staring down back at him… but, perhaps later that night, that would change.

"It takes practice," Freak said.  "A lot of practice," he amended.  "But this was her home—and mine.  I know my way around… slow down for a moment," the li-tigon said, suddenly.

The two females complied, instantly, remaining in the simple phalanx formation they'd started their little early evening jog with.  Twenty yards later, and the constant stream of pugmarks that had showed their entire trip from the coast to their current position—the heart of the northern Desert, another few hours from the waterfall—had changed.  Individual tracks had become closer and closer until, finally, there were none left—they'd stopped.

Freak was concerned, this was obvious to see.  Uvuli faced outwards from their formation, a little, as did Kochai—but there didn't seem to be anything around.  Just wind, and dust, and the giant shadows cast by the dunes all around.

"Wait here.  I won't be long," Freak said, before, silently, moving off to the west, slinking low to the ground—had he detected something?

Kochai shot a questioning glance at Uvuli, but the hyena just shook her head.  And, by the time the tigress looked back to where Freak had been, he was gone.

* * *

Now, this was an experience he never dreamed he'd have again—moving through the Desert, covertly, either under or on the endless dunes and sloping surfaces it boasted.  It was almost like he was searching for a foreign dictator again—but this wasn't Freak's goal.  Not that night.

_"Shindani, Msaka, Adhabu…  What have you been up to?  Still fighting?..."_

His destination was the Western Oasis—the most commonly used watering hole in the Desert.  It was far from the violent border with the territories to the south, but there was no choice—any other oases that had existed were long dry.

Now, just before sunset, was when the lionesses were likely to be quenching their thirst.  It was strange, though—Freak had seen no signs of combat—none.  Had the war finished?  If it had… the Desert Warriors had lost.  There was no question about that.

Perhaps, though, they'd managed to hold out, somehow—and were waiting for him just another two miles away.

The li-tigon moved quickly, very aware that if Uvuli and Kochai were attacked by any invading or occupation force, they wouldn't last long.  Still, he had to know, for sure, the fate of his grandmother's protégés.  If they were alive… he wouldn't let them stay in the Desert, even if he had to personally drag them out, kicking and screaming every step of the way.

The Western Oasis was surrounded, on all sides, by high, rising dunes.  This hid it from view, even from very close by, making it the ideal position to hold and defend—Freak considered announcing himself before moving in, to avoid attack.  But then again, if the Desert had fallen, then the Western Oasis would be converted into a guard post—and any forces there would be eager to exact revenge on a being responsible for dozens of casualties on their side.

In the end, Freak decided to move in silently, creeping up to the very lip of overarching dunes that hid the Western Oasis.  Just inches from peeking out, he started to consider what to say to the lionesses, if he found them…

When the li-tigon finally looked, though, he realized that he wouldn't have to say anything.

There was no one there, neither feline, canine nor reptilian.  There wasn't even an oasis there, anymore—it had gone dry, it seemed, like any number of other watering holes to the south.  The dry lakebed didn't even look parched—there wasn't even a lakebed anymore.  Sand had covered all evidence that water had ever been there, it seemed; not even a skeleton, or defiant plant remained in the area.

Freak was in the right place, this was for certain.  Walking around in the depression, somewhat dazed by the manner in which this geographic feature had simply vanished from the face of the map, he sought some sign of the Desert Warriors—a track, a scent, a stray strand of fur, anything…

Nothing.

And it was getting time to get back to Uvuli and Kochai.

As noiselessly as he'd entered, Freak stalked out of the Western Oasis—he didn't quite leave it without looking back, once.  Turning over his shoulder, as if to insure that no lingering spirit or signal had appeared behind him, he shut his eyes.  Then, he started to move again.

_"Goodbye,"_ the li-tigon thought.  _"I guess I won't ever see you again… but I promise, after I'm finished with my twin, I'll be back—and I'll find out, for certain, your fate.  Even if I have to battle through every dog and dragon in the Desert, just to speak to one surviving veteran… I'll do it.  You three, and Sikia… are as much a part of my family as the Pride Landers.  I'm sorry for leaving you…"_

* * *

Poor Kochai and Uvuli.  After Freak left them, there was nothing to do but wait, and imagine that every sound was one of distant, violent combat; that every gust of wind would bring with it the scent of blood; that every distant blur was the li-tigon's cold, lifeless body, being dismembered and eaten by some vicious Desert creature.

Understandably, they were nervous, and, slowly, moved towards one another, so that they were back to back.  As far as they were concerned, the Desert was downright creepy, without Freak—even Uvuli, a veteran by any standard, didn't dare speak any words of comfort to Kochai.  She hardly dared to breathe.

"Psst.  I'm back."

Uvuli jumped, then turned, in a heartbeat, to face the west—Kochai joined her, and, a few seconds later, the two females relaxed.

"Why the—how—sand?  Are you part mole, too?" Uvuli asked, eye twitching, slightly, as she watched Freak noiselessly emerge from the dune before her.

"No," the li-tigon replied, curtly, shaking himself off, briefly.  "Now… let's get going."

Uvuli and Kochai shared a glance, before forming up on him again, and following, again jogging to the north.  He wasn't usually this cold—well… with respect to recent times, anyway.

It wasn't long before he spoke, softly, though they didn't have to strain to hear him over the noiseless falls of his paws.

"I looked around for the Desert Warriors, just a little.  I checked the Western Oasis… the path that took me there covered all areas we used to use for sleeping… and I found nothing.  So… they either lost the war, completely, and escaped… or never left the Desert."

A few moments passed.  They were getting closer to the waterfall, but Uvuli didn't know how Freak intended to scale it, to get to the Jungle.  He had told them both how his mother had escaped Samehe—Kochai, perhaps, was small enough to make it up that sheer face, Freak mused.  But that's not how he intended to get back to the Jungle…

* * *

"It looks more impressive in the daytime.  I promise," Freak said.  "But still… this really is magical, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Uvuli panted.  "It really is… now, can we get a break?  I'm beat…"

The li-tigon looked at her, then Kochai, but not for long, before nodding.  Instantly, the females collapsed, exhausted—this was too much work with too little food and rest.

On the plus side, though, now they had clean, drinking water—the oasis here hadn't dried.  There was still a clear two square miles of jungle, in a fashion; a carryover from the wilderness hundreds of feet above.  One shock of Desert sand defiantly reached do the very edge of the water, though—this was where Freak had finally come to rest.

He looked up, far up, but could still only see the fringes of his Jungle home.  He had to struggle to avoid having an out of body experience—and simply shook his head, smiling.  Everything had fallen apart, but now, it was all coming back together.

He took a few steps forward and knelt, drinking from the clear, dark blue pool of water in front of him—he paused, once, then continued, with much more enthusiasm.  It had been months since he'd tasted that particular blend of minerals and organic matter—the residue of plant life and volcanic ash from the Jungle.

When he was finished, the li-tigon looked around him, for a moment.  The trees here were mostly palm; some where larger, moss-covered variants of the forests that he'd spent his cubhood in—there wasn't much grass, though, and there simply wasn't enough infrastructure, so to speak, to support much animal life.

There were birds, though; dozens of the brightly-colored avians were in a nearby tree, sleeping, as noiseless as Freak was as he stalked towards them—then changed his mind.

_"It's been a long time since I've seen another land animal, besides Kochai and Uvuli… I'll leave you alone for tonight…"_

They still needed food, though, and to satisfy that need, Freak simply made his into water, until he was shoulder-deep—then, after taking a deep breath, he pressed his face under the surface.

* * *

"Hey… get up, you two… we have to keep moving…"

They hadn't fallen asleep.  Not really.  They'd just been resting their eyes…

Whining, quietly, Kochai stood.  She was about to protest, until her nose twitched, then her eyes widened.

"What is this?" the young tigress asked, staring at something just a few inches in front of Freak's feet.  "This… is a fish, yes?"

"Fish, yes," the li-tigon affirmed, as, moaning, Uvuli got up as well.  "I've eaten it many times, particularly in my cubhood.  You've never had it before?  How bizarre."

"Don't make fun of me," Kochai complained, as she approached, curiously sniffing at the kill in front of her.  "I tried it once when I was very, very small… I think… what does it taste like?"

"Like fish.  I don't know how to describe it," the li-tigon sighed.  "What would you say, Uvuli?"

"I would say that I need some REMs, not fish.  Why'ja get us up again, ya slave driver?" she said, only half joking.

"I'm sorry," Freak replied instantly, making the hyena feel guilty—a little—as he continued.  "I want to be in the Jungle tonight—now, I know I've asked a lot of you today already… but I'm going to ask a little bit more.  And you're going to want to have some energy for it," the li-tigon said, with a not entirely sane twinkle in his eye—it unnerved Uvuli, for a moment, before she shrugged, and joined Kochai in feasting on the fresh, somewhat chilly meat before them.

The li-tigon started to eat a moment later, as well.  Fish, he thought, idly, really was an excellent foodstuff—it was certainly a break in the norm; it was lean, healthy, and had few bones that could do real damage if swallowed.

"So, uh, what do you have in mind, y'know?  For how to get up to the Jungle?" Uvuli asked.  "Heh… guess I'm good for anything, now," she said, looking over her worn, but not entirely beaten muscles.  "As long as it's not more effing swimming…"

"Language," Freak said, in a warning tone, mock-glaring at Uvuli as he covered Kochai's ears with his paws, until she squirmed out of his grasp.  "And… well, to be honest…"

You guessed it—more effing swimming.

* * *

This was dangerous, and, to be fair, somewhat foolish, too.  Freak had no reason to think that it would work, except that it simply felt like it would in a manner that couldn't easily be put into words.

Perhaps it was a bit more than somewhat foolish.

But it was the only speedy way to get back to the Pride Lands.

The pool into which the waterfall from the Jungle poured had was bottomless—at exactly one point.  There was a hole leading from it—a black, evil-looking oval that Freak led his two wingmen towards without fear.

They dived into it, and, instantly, were bathed in darkness—Kochai and Uvuli couldn't see, for a moment, but then, slowly, Freak's form became visible, as did their surroundings.

They were traveling through a smooth, somewhat ridged tunnel—it was difficult to tell the color of the surrounding rock, but—how were they seeing anything at all?  What was that dim, pale bluish glow that was lighting their way?  What was Freak clutching in his paw?

Uvuli tried to figure out, for a moment, how the struggling, squirming fish that the li-tigon had caught, at some point, was somehow producing light with its body, but then simply decided to accept it as yet another miracle associated with Freak's presence.

Kochai was keeping up, well, although they'd been underwater for over a minute, by then.  At first, they'd simply moved northwards—then, there was a sharp turn, and they were swimming straight up, quickly, without stopping once.  After all, though Freak could hold his breath for a truly impressive amount of time, Kochai and Uvuli were normal beings.

Suddenly, though, they broke surface—and, for the first time in her life, Kochai was in the Jungle.

They'd come through what looked like nothing more than a small puddle, in a swampier part of the territory.  Just a hundred feet behind them was the waterfall—and, looking past it, they could see the Desert they'd trekked across, as silent as it was earlier that night.

Uvuli was still catching her breath by the time Kochai was curiously looking at this, sniffing at that, tapping at this—everything was new to her, and, unlike the Desert, the Jungle was exciting for more than ten seconds.  She was entranced by every knobbled root that isolated the puddle from which they'd emerged, every moss-covered vine that hung from the treetops, every one of the hundreds of different plants immediately visible.

"You lived here, yes, big brother?  When you were my age?"

"That's right, Kochai," Freak said, softly.

The tigress turned to the li-tigon—smiled, widely—then got back to her work.  She took it upon herself to scout out the surrounding area, leaving him to guard Uvuli, who, for some reason, found the rapid ascent exhausting.

"You're leaving her alone?" the hyena panted, sprawled out near the triangle of open space that led to the waterfall.

"You have to let cubs go at some point," Freak replied—though, she noted, he was looking directly away from her for a reason.  "That's doubly true for Kochai.  I'm not even sure that it's fair to call her a cub, with all that she's been through… I can't believe how friendly she's turned out to be.  She's nothing at all like me."

"Well, you didn't have a protective big brother, or a father, or a mother, or a human pal, at all," Uvuli pointed out.  "Or a big sister," she added, as an afterthought.

For some reason, the hyena then felt the need to join him in surveying the Jungle, focusing directly on wherever soft, distant noises told her that Kochai was.  It was incredible that the young tigress had made such an impression on her so quickly—she really was precious.

"That's true," Freak accepted.  "If I did… do you think I'd… be like she is…?"

Now _that_ was hard to imagine.  Uvuli thought, for a moment… but didn't answer.  Freak was… how he was.  There was no changing the damage that had been done to him… but perhaps it was possible to reverse it.  The Dark One had already done quite a lot in this regard.  Perhaps the day wasn't far off when Freak was no longer a freak, but was simply normal—that, really, was all he'd ever wanted.

Or perhaps normality was something entirely unattainable for the li-tigon.  Something undesirable, as well.  He was special, and there was no use in denying that—perhaps a more tenable goal was to create within him a feeling that, no matter what he did, or where he went, he'd always have a place in the Pride Lands, among friends and family—if he wanted it.

Perhaps this feeling had already been created.  But only time would tell.

"She's been gone for a while," Uvuli said, and it was true.  More than fifteen minutes had passed since Kochai had slipped off to reconnoiter the surrounding areas.

"She has."

"Gonna go and find her?"

"No."

"Want me to?"

"Not yet."

"Worried at all?"

"Of course."

How maddening.  Uvuli felt this way, despite the fact that her cubhood wasn't exactly as far behind her as it often felt—and despite the fact that Kochai could hold her own against anything twice her size and strength, and many things far more powerful than that.

"How long do you wanna give it?" Uvuli asked, after another five minutes, getting to her feet.   "I mean… it's a jungle out here, Shujaa.  Anything could happen."

"You're right," the li-tigon replied.  "Let's give it… another fifteen minutes.  But I don't think we'll need that long…"

Just then, a very familiar, very cute face popped out of the nearby treeline—Uvuli did a doubletake.  How and when had she lost track of Kochai's location?  What on Earth had she been tracking instead?

"Have we learned anything?" Freak asked, in a somewhat smug, but very gentle—and very fatherly—tone.

"Yes," the young tigress replied, sadly, as she walked forward, slowly.  "Leave insects alone whenever possible…"

"Am I missin' something here?" Uvuli said.  "What happ—oh, _damn_!  Hwoof!  Yuck—what did—oh, jeez, you gotta take a bath, Kochai.  Gah.  What did you do, put your paw through stinkbug-zilla?"

"A nest of them," she said, mournfully, making her way to the same puddle that they'd emerged from.  "I was not paying close enough attention… and now…"

"Here," Freak said suddenly, knocking an oblong fruit in the tigress's direction, suddenly.  "Split this open, and rub it on the… affected area.  It'll bring things under control… and, within an hour or two, you'll be back to normal."

"How do you know this, big brother?" Kochai said, in a dejected tone, though she did as he'd said.  With a claw, she slit open the tough but juicy yield, took a sniff—its scent was neutral—then vigorously rubbed it all over her back left paw.

Somewhat tired himself, Freak sat down, several inches from Uvuli.  He watched as Kochai sniffed at herself again—gasped, in surprise, as what she was doing actually seemed to be working—and continued until the unseen chemical reaction was completed.

"Thank you for helping, big brother.  How do you know so many things?  Your brain is very big, yes?"

"I'm not sure it works that way," the li-tigon said, allowing Kochai a sense of victory by falling over when she gently pounced on him.  "I learned that by watching a lemur do the same, when I was very small.  It was knowledge received too late, though."

"So you have stepped into nests of stinkbugs as well, yes?" the young tigress said, giggling, somewhat guiltily, forelegs rested on the li-tigon's side.

"I had to lay low for two days.  It was terrible."

Kochai laughed, merrily, then folded her paws, resting against Uvuli.  It was late, and, after stopping long enough to think, the kitten found that she was exhausted.  Shutting her eyes, she purred, softly, nuzzling the warm body next to her, before relaxing completely.

"We came so far today," she murmured.  "Through the Desert, then into the Jungle… it's incredible, yes?  This must be the greatest journey any non-human has ever made."

"Maybe, short stuff," Uvuli replied, stroking the cub's head with a paw, several times.  "And just think—either tomorrow night, or early the next morning… we'll be home.  I mean, really home… back in the Pride Lands."

"I cannot wait—why don't we leave now, yes?  I have plenty of energy left," the tigress said, suddenly opening her eyes, staring, intently, at the hyena.

"Are you _kidding_ me—"

"Yes," Kochai interrupted, before Uvuli could go any further.  Laughing, softly, at the expression on her face, the kitten shut her eyes again.  She sighed, then, and relaxed again.  "Good night, big sister… good night, big brother…"

"Good night, little Kochai," Freak replied, looking northwards, for some reason, a very serious expression on his face.  "Try to get some sleep, you two.  There's something… that I'd like to check on."

"What?  No, dude, you gotta get some rest, too," Uvuli said, looking up, opening her eyes—but it was too late.  By the time her gaze met the part of earth the li-tigon had occupied until then, he was gone.

Night, it seemed, was the one time that the pother Freak had sighted earlier, just a few miles north of his current position, didn't apply—at least, not as strongly.  At least, not here.

The Pride Lands, visible from the top one of the several trees that had encroached up the side of the Eastern Volcanoes, were still cloaked, still buffered from anything above.  The constant, dusty, sooty, unnatural cloud cover meant something, Freak knew—but what it meant, he didn't yet know.

Stony faced, eyes almost precisely the shade of the rock around him, the li-tigon continued to stare forward.  Pride Rock… it was so close.  Freak couldn't wait to get back.

The journey there might not be without conflict, though, and that was worrying to the li-tigon.  Once dawn broke, Freak felt certain that the stifling cloud always over the Pride Lands would extend to cover the entire Land of the Spirits—or, at the very least, from the unexplored north to where he was now—the southern Jungle.

What that meant remained to be seen, but it couldn't be good.  The li-tigon was wary of everything he didn't understand, and he didn't understand what was going on in the Land of the Spirits at all.

And he wasn't going to change that by depriving himself of much-needed rest.

Freak dismounted from the tree, landing, thirty feet below, without a sound, despite his size.  He didn't have to walk for long to get back to Kochai and Uvuli—in case they needed protecting, he hadn't strayed more than a quarter mile from them.

_"It's going to get dangerous here,"_ Freak thought to himself.  _"And soon.  And not just for them—for me, too.  To stand up to whatever's going to come my way, I need to be constantly vigilant, always on my toes.  In this new Land… who knows what might happen?"_

* * *

Fortunately, that night, the answer was nothing.

After just three hours of rest, Freak's eyes opened, and stayed that way.  Dawn brought it sunlight, but not as much as he was accustomed to, not in this part of the world.

Out in the open, several feet from either Kochai or Uvuli, it was shadowed on the ground—clouded.  Gray seemed to be the dominant color—the multitude of colors normally visible in the early morning were simply gone.

Nearby trees gave way to a Jungle that didn't seem to offer any shelter from the suppressing presence.  Freak stood, without realizing it, and walked onto the thicker grasses and fallen branches of the forest, just to check—but it was all as it seemed: colorless, and nearly lifeless.  What few living beings the li-tigon could see move in an unnaturally lethargic manner—jerkily, slowly; as if constantly in fear for their lives.

A quick look at the sky confirmed that the black, writhing smog that had been only over the Pride Lands just hours ago had now grown in size, moving to envelope what looked like the southern fringes of the Desert—and it was still expanding.

There was a deadened feeling about the place, detectable even within the air—Freak smelled decay, coming from no particular source.  It was like the land itself was dying—and that was an explanation that made sense.  What young, new plants there were looked shriveled and unhealthy, much like, Freak was sure, the animals that fed off of them would.

And that was another thing—he couldn't detect any animal in the immediate vicinity larger than a bird.  No prey for a predator of his size, not really—had they all died?

That didn't seem likely.  Perhaps, then, they'd left.

If that were so, then Freak knew their location—it was also his.

Again, he felt that deep, desperate longing rise within him—he missed the Pride Lands dearly.

This time, though, there was a sense of real hope and anticipation that came along with the all-too-familiar homesickness.  The Pride Lands were no longer a pie in the sky, a goal that, while admirable, was practically impossible to reach.  Now, they were just a day's travel away.

"Up so early, big brother?" said a soft, yawning voice, from just behind the li-tigon.

"It's a big day.  For you, too," he added, turning towards the small tigress as she stumbled to her feet, stretching, cutely.  "Today, you'll meet the rest of our family for the first time.  Nervous?"

Even as she walked over, still half-asleep, to affectionately nuzzle the li-tigon's shoulder, she nodded.

"Very much so, big brother.  I hope they'll like me…"

"Don't worry, Kochai.  I've said it before—everybody loves you."

"I know I do," said a very groggy, very tired Uvuli, even as she forced herself to stand, looking down at Kochai with a sincere, albeit exhausted smile.  "You're sweet, cute, fun, and, when you're less of a small fry, you'll be a great fighter, too.  So chillax, sister, and just wait until everyone can get their paws on you.  You'll be _too_ popular."

"Oh… I hope so," the kitten said, looking far up at the hyena, a somewhat pinkish tinge lighting up the pale, white-orange fur on her cheeks.  "And you promise, big sister, that even if no one else likes me, you still will, yes?  You will always be my friend… yes?  And you too, big brother?"

"Of course," both replied, without any hesitance whatsoever.  This made Kochai smile even more widely than she usually did, before prancing off, singing something about getting breakfast.

Freak and Uvuli were alone again, and, for a moment, simply looked at one another.  Eventually, the latter turned away in embarrassment—this was terrible.  She had to force things through at some point.

"We should get going," Freak said, "and don't worry about Kochai.  She'll know where we are."

"Yeah… let's rock and roll…"

It was interesting to see the li-tigon in what could be called his most natural environment for the first time.  The grace and quiet confidence he normally exuded with every step was only amplified by the fact that this land was part of his bones—after all, he'd grown up here.  The Jungle was nothing if not the most defining location in Freak's life.

After ten minutes of stalking northwards, eyes on their prize, Uvuli spoke.  All at once, her words were unplanned… and the culmination of months of planned things that went unsaid.

"I love you, you know."

"I know."

"Not that way.  The way… Vitani did."

"I know."

Well.  That was certainly an interesting revelation.  Uvuli wasn't quite sure how to react to it—so she simply decided not to.  Rather, she just remained where she'd always been: at Freak's side, in his immediate vicinity… but never too close.  She never crossed that invisible boundary that the li-tigon had set and never allowed anyone inside—except, of course, for little Kochai.

"When did it start?" Freak asked, out of the blue.  He spoke as if in a carefully measured tone, focused on not letting too much emotion enter her voice.

"A long time ago," Uvuli replied.  "Since you left us…"

"I'm sorry about doing that," Freak said, after a moment.  "I needed… time."

"I know."

There was silence, again, and Uvuli was starting to regret saying anything at all.  Freak wouldn't reject her outright—he was too considerate, now, to do something like that.  Perhaps things would have been better if she'd said nothing at all.

Suddenly, though, the hyena felt him—quite intentionally—bump into her shoulder.  Looking up, hardly daring to believe what was happening, she saw him smile down at her.

"Things are starting to go my way."

* * *

Kochai was surprised by how much freedom she'd suddenly been allowed.  Surviving the trip to the Land of the Spirits, it seemed, was one of the best things she'd ever done—that thought brought a smile to the young tigress's face, even as she triumphantly made her way to the northwest—she aimed to cross paths with Uvuli and Freak in any moment.

She smelled them both, but not well enough to tell where exactly they were.  And since laying relatively low was their strategy for avoiding unnecessary attention, just then, she heard nothing.

Kochai really did like the Jungle, and if Freak wanted to return to his original home after he was finished wiping the ground with his twin—that's what she fully expected to happen—she'd consider joining him, if not immediately, then in a few years, after she was simply too old to be properly socialized into a pride.

It made her somewhat sad to know that, by nature, she'd never be able to spend all of her life around others.  This was the fate of her species—this flaw had had a hand in driving her parents apart, and, in the end, killing them.

Kochai had learned from their mistakes, though.  And she'd promised herself to know her limits—when it became unbearable for her to be around others, she wouldn't push it.  She'd leave, before _really_ bad things happened.

For now, though, nothing brought her greater pleasure than doing what she was doing—proudly carrying a very large tropical bird of some sort in her mouth, back to her two adoptive siblings.  In the future—the very near future—she'd enjoy doing the same for her entire pride.

It wasn't long before Kochai found Freak and Uvuli again.  Intending to give them a scare, she sneaked towards them, as silently as she could manage—it occurred to her, at some level, that they'd almost certainly heard her and were simply playing along… but all at once, she stopped in her tracks.

"Why so close?" she said suddenly.

Freak and Uvuli turned, facing her with many emotions on their faces, none of which were surprise.  So, they had heard her coming.  And, still, they were no more than a centimeter from one another's sides.

"I have only ever seen Mother and Father walk so close to one another.  What's this about?"

The two looked at Kochai, then one another, then back at Kochai.

"Well, you see… that is… Kochai, there are just things that you're too small to understand," Freak said patronizingly, looking at his young relative in as condescending of a manner as possible.  "What's happening here is a secret.  Understand?"

_"Ahh…"_  Kochai smiled, nodding—she did understand.  After retrieving her kill, she brought to the two older beings, setting it in front of them.  "Yes, big brother.  A secret… this makes sense.  Congratulations," she added.

Uvuli beamed at the young tigress, for a moment, and briefly wrestled with her before they both joined Freak to share their meal.  The li-tigon's eyes, bright and happy just a moment ago, quickly turned dull and brooding.

_"Now if only I can make this last longer than what I had with Vitani.  If it ends, it won't be the female who dies, this time.  It'll be me…"_

* * *

The first day Freak had ever been in the Pride Lands for a prolonged period of time was, let's politely say, tumultuous.  As he recalled, he'd had his life threatened, albeit not directly, and, in response, had taken a hostage—after ditching another hostage.

Things had changed, the li-tigon noted, since the last time he'd been in the area.  Compared to what they looked like now, for instance, the Outlands had once been a wet, green paradise.

Some things, though, didn't change.  And, just fifteen feet from its borders, by then, Freak saw that one of the few remaining constants in the Land of the Spirits was the Pride Lands.

They still stood proud and noble, as much of a lush paradise as they were when Freak had left them.  Standing on a low hill, alongside Kochai and Uvuli, he was able to survey the plane that dominated the Pride Lands' southern regions—and there, in the distance…

"I cannot see so well at this distance," Kochai said, quietly.  "But… is that…?"

"I can't be sure," Freak breathed, "but… I think so."

"Who is it?" Uvuli said, squinting, hard.  "I can't… I don't recognize… it's a male," she said, "but… it's not Tanga, or Kovu, or Simba…"

"You're sure?"

"Completely."

Freak continued to look at the distant, lone figure for a moment.  Then, he started to step forward, feeling a rising sense of anticipation as he did so.  In five steps, he'd be back in the Pride Lands, along with Kochai and Uvuli… four, three, two, one…

And he'd returned.

Kochai gasped, lightly—Freak's eyes simply widened, before he nodded in an understanding manner.  The Pride Landers hadn't been doing just nothing while he was gone, it seemed.

Which further decreased the possibility that he was, even then, looking at an enemy invader.  No, Freak was certain, he was looking at an ally.  A friend.  Or, for all he knew, another family member.

How, though, to contact that distant lion?

As the answer surfaced in Freak's mind, it brought with it a smile.  He'd never been a fan of drama… but this was tradition.

"You'll have to tell me," he said, glancing first at Kochai, then Uvuli, "if this has changed as well.  I think it might have gotten a little louder."

They both gave him questioning looks, for a moment—that ended, though, when Freak roared, so loudly that all those above as well as those in the Pride Lands heard him.  He was back—and this time, he wasn't going to leave so easily.  Not until he took victory from the cold, dead hands of his enemy… or he himself perished.  That was the line in the sand Freak had drawn—and, this time around, he would not retreat from his responsibilities.

* * *

(To all of you inside and outside of Kyrgyzstan—Merry Christmas, Happy New Years, and Happy RamaHanuNewYears!  Read and review, and the Lion Sheikh will see you soon.)


	26. BaW II: Anathema

The Lion King: The Freak

Chapter 26: Battles and Wars II: Anathema

* * *

(After an admittedly long break, here we go.  Read and review, pretty please.)

* * *

Killing that lion was easy—very easy.  It had taken Kifo two rounds, and even fewer seconds of effort.  His bloodlust wasn't sated by the murder in the slightest, particularly since he'd seen the white furred male coming from a mile away.  All he needed to do was crouch, ready his rifle, then open fire.  It was even easier than the massacre he'd recently committed in the White Sands.

The killing might have been more satisfying if Kifo had found the body, and had had the time to consume or torture it—but when he and Kishindo had arrived where the body should have been, they saw nothing.  Not even blood.

In total, the killing had done little more than give him the patience for some interaction with his companion.

"I'm going to tell you a story, Kishindo."

She barely heard him.  Her focus was almost completely taken by the sight before her: the Pride Lands.  The landscape closest to her and the demon was a slowly sifting ocean of grass, left dried and tan by a recent lack of rain that had affected the majority of the Land of the Spirits.

It had been some time since she'd last been in the area, but she'd forgotten nothing since she'd been washed away by the treacherous efforts of Simba, Kiara… and her own son.

Well.  Kifo would have his revenge someday.  But first, Kishindo would have hers—she'd make Kovu sorry that he was ever born, as she was.

"What did you say?" the lioness said, a bit curtly.  Her eyes didn't leave her destination, and her mind didn't leave her goal.  "I wasn't paying attention."

A tendon running alongside Kifo's neck throbbed, and he had to concentrate for a moment to calm, slowly forcing his fists to open.  When he replied, it was in an even harsher, more abrupt tone than his companion used.

"I _said_," he practically spat, "that I'm going to tell you a story.  Listening?"

He glared at her so venomously that she actually felt the tanned, tawny fur at the back of her neck prick up.  Real fear rose in the lioness, and, silently, she turned to face Kifo.  She didn't apologize, and, unsurprisingly, neither did he.  But, a moment later, the demon started to speak again.

"There was this one country, right, and they knew that they might have to fight this other country.  So, they got a giant line of guns ready—except, they didn't protect this one part of their border, see.  So, the other country invaded through that little opening, and the entire line became useless.  See the analogy?"

Kishindo smirked slightly—a risk that was wise only for her.

"I've heard of the Maginot Line, boy.  Just because I'm a lioness doesn't mean that I'm stupid."

"Wha—how—forget it," Kifo sighed.  "So, uh, where's Belgium?"

She turned back to the empty quadrant of the Pride Lands, the area that had very recently been soiled with Sarabi's blood.  Her angular, cruel features were as sharp and precise as a scalpel; carefully, they cleaved apart every detail of the nearby border with the Pride Lands.

"I'm not entirely sure," she admitted.  "But if I know Simba, the arrogant blowhard will have sanctified the Pride Lands.  And that's a problem—it means that you can't enter… unless you have permission."

"From what?" the demon interrupted.  "Him?  His dead relatives?  Either way, we're fucked."

"Not to worry, Kifo," the lioness said smoothly.  "To enter a sanctified area… you must have permission from one of its owners."

He stared down at her blankly.  His patience was wearing thin, and if Kishindo didn't get to her point soon, she'd know just how much power one of those massive fists could deliver to a feline body.

"Think, Kifo.  If sanctification could have kept us, Scar's followers, out of the Pride Lands, it would have been done generations ago.  As I recall, that red-maned bastard even tried it once.  It didn't work."

Comprehension made its way across the demon's face, followed by a cruel smile.

"Now," the lioness said, savoring the word, "if only I could remember the correct wording…"

She tilted her head.  Raised her gaze up to the sky.  She wasn't looking for the Spirits that had abandoned her cause for more than a lifetime—she was looking through her mind; scouring years' worth of memories for the few words that would grant Kifo access to the Pride Lands.

"Ah, yes…" she said, malicious.  "Kifo… kneel."

Not without difficulty, the demon complied.  He rested his paws on his massive quadriceps, giving the thick black hair that clung to his skull a toss—and watched, as Kishindo stood before him.

"In compliance with the law of our Land, as the rightful owner of the Pride Lands, I grant Kifo, demon, access to the Pride Lands."

Silence—for a moment, nothing happened.  Kifo's lip twitched.

"That's it?  We done here?"

"I… believe so."  Furrows were etched into Kishdindo's brow.  Her eyes, normally as hateful as their blood-red shade suggested, were unsure—but she shook her head.  "We'll find out.  Follow me…"

They moved forward; there was no question in either of their minds where the divide between the Pride Lands and their current territory was.  Fifty yards away and slowly approaching, there was a divide in the land so clear it could be seen from the Heavens themselves—on one side, grass didn't grow.  On one side, the ground was dry and dusty and lifeless.  On the other, none of this was true.

There was no fear as she walked forward, demon directly behind her.  There never had been, though the punishment for trespassing into the Pride Lands was capital—this was _her_ territory.  She wouldn't be deterred from entering it, no matter how unwelcome she was.

* * *

Heart's ease.  Solastalgia.  Place pathology.  These are all reasonable terms to describe what was felt by those that left the Pride Lands.  Because, no matter how acclimated to other territories they became, they always knew at the core of their being that they were not home.  The real homeland of all lions in the Land of the Spirits was the Pride Lands.

Freak was no lion.  But his bonds to the Pride Lands were so strong that they ran in his blood—his father had held the title of the Lion King, as had his father's father, and his father's grandfather, and all of his male ascendants.  He was descended directly from the first cats to enter the Land of the Spirits after years of searching for their own little slice of Heaven on Earth.

Allow the Lion Sheikh to be very clear: coming back to the Land of the Spirits brought with at a feeling of success, and happiness so great that Freak could hardly stop himself from… smiling… for maybe two seconds.  But coming back to the Pride Lands—that might make the li-tigon smile for _three_ seconds.  Or even four.  Who knew?

Freak wasn't a being that needed to show his emotions on the outside.  He felt them just as acutely as anyone else did within—perhaps even more so.  His circle of beloved friends and family was large, and with all of them in the same place for the first time in history, the li-tigon felt something he wasn't used to.

Satisfaction was an emotion he'd known throughout his life, even during the darkest periods in the Jungle before he'd met another being willing to accept his right to live.  He'd felt it at varying levels—but he'd never felt a relieved sort of satisfaction, a quiet sense of accomplishment that told him that everything would be okay; that he'd done his job.

He thought of the friends that were no longer with him—Raj, Nasher, Asal, the Dark One, Samehe, Sikia.  All of them had one thing in common: they all knew that their places were among others.  They all knew their priorities—to secure a better future for everyone, even at the cost of personal sacrifice.

Until then, he would have included Adhabu and Msaka among the list of beings that he'd loved and lost—but, amazingly, they were there, in the flesh, very alive and very happy to see him.  But, like the rest of the group that had converged on Freak, Kochai, and Uvuli, they were all silent.

For several minutes, they'd been moving north, towards Pride Rock.  Freak wasn't sure how, but it seemed like every being in the Land of the Spirits he'd ever known was within twenty feet of him—except for Simba.  But as they approached the natural monument that had been the object of Freak's aspirations for months, Freak could see a familiar silhouette standing at its crest, alone, waiting to be joined.

As he walked, Freak found himself reminiscing over his life.  Everything he'd ever done, everything that had ever been done to him—it all seemed to have the purpose of preparing him for one event, which was now closer than ever.  Every fight, every injury received and given; it had all molded him into the being he was now: one that was, hopefully, capable of vanquishing the greatest threat to the Land that had ever existed.

There were unfamiliar faces around him—lions he'd never seen before.  But he knew, now, not to treat them with fear and suspicion—they were the friends of his friends; thus, they had his trust and friendship by extension.  They looked different—one female in particular had pale fur and green eyes.

Freak would never, ever hold someone's strange appearance against them.  He was no hypocrite.

What in particular was going on was still a mystery to Freak, but he didn't say a word.  No one had, not since he'd re-entered the Pride Lands.  There was an intensity about the ceremony that was going on—it was a ceremony, he was sure of it—that demanded silence.

Even little Kochai wasn't saying anything.  She was nervous; Freak could feel it, but she was also a brave young tigress.  Maybe she was starting to assume that there was some bizarre Pride Land tradition against speaking to newcomers until some sort of blessing took place—such things existed in her homeland, after all.  The kitten's thoughts, though, remained private.  Next to Uvuli in the rough phalanx formation behind Freak, she walked forward just as focused as everyone else.

The li-tigon was surprised that he didn't feel strange, leading such a massive group of lions—he'd literally never been around so many before in his life, not by a long shot, and he knew better than to set an overwhelmingly high bar for himself.  But he didn't feel nervous, not even in the slightest.

Perhaps, then, this was his place: at the head of the pride.

That could be true, he thought, but only in the short term.  Only Simba was the Lion King, and Freak was grateful that he felt no desire for power.  Once before, that dangerous hunger had plunged the Pride Lands into disastrous war.

Now, though, the wrongdoings of the generations would be fixed.  That is… if Freak could fight and win in single combat against his twin.  And, even then, as he made the final leg of his epic journey back to pride rock, he wasn't sure that he could.

* * *

There were no moments in Freak's life so solemn as those following when everyone stopped at the base of Pride Rock.  Even Uvuli and Kochai did, though they couldn't have been told what to do without his notice—but they, too, halted, staring at the worn stone path that led up Pride Rock.

The li-tigon wondered if he was supposed to stop as well, and looked back at the myriad of faces behind him for guidance.  No one spoke, though, nor so much as mouthed a command—so, after a moment of hesitation, Freak began to climb.

Still finding it difficult to believe that he was back in the Pride Lands, the li-tigon looked down to ensure that those massive, light, tan-orange paws were his, as they noiselessly padded across the sleek gray of Pride Rock.  He was alone, for a few moments, in the darkened passage that led to the protruding peak of the structure.

Then, Freak stepped into the light.  The Sun's rays on his face were so inspiring, that he had to stop, for a moment, frozen by the power of the moment—and then, he saw Simba.

It had been too long since the li-tigon had seen his cousin, the merciful, wise being responsible for bringing him into the Pride Lands.  Simba hadn't changed a bit—his mane seemed to burn as the concentrated light struck it; his face was still proud, noble, compassionate, all at once.  Unsmiling, the Lion King stopped surveying his homeland, and turned to Freak.

Then, he shut his eyes and bowed his head.

"In compliance with the law of our Land, as the Lion King, I grant Shujaa, warrior, command of the Pride Lands, and all of its people."

Freak froze—surely, what was going on wasn't a transfer of power.  No, he'd prepared to fight Kifo—he wasn't prepared to do this…

"I relinquish my position as the Lion King," Simba said without a trace of hesitation or reservation.  "Shujaa is the new King."

Now this was a surprise—and not just Freak's sudden, unprecedented ascent to the throne.  He actually felt more powerful, more in touch with the land.  He was now as inextricably part of it as Pride Rock itself—and now, Freak understood, better than ever, the challenge facing him.

Without realizing it, the li-tigon had made his way past Simba.  The former King's head was still bowed in deference, and he didn't look as mighty as he had a moment ago, but Freak saw none of this.  He was looking at his kingdom.

From the vast, sprawling plains of to his left, to the lush forests and jungles to his right, to the rocky, mixed habitat directly before him, there was a unity, a sense of kinship felt by all the beings that lived in the Pride Lands.  Freak had felt this at its most rudimentary levels before his exile, and somewhat more strongly just minutes ago—but now, the li-tigon felt it as fully as any living being ever would.

Everything was counting on him to survive.  Everything, and everyone.   The stakes couldn't be higher.

For a long time, Freak was silent.  His mind, impressive as it was, was racing over the time he'd spent in the Pride Lands.  There were few areas he hadn't see, few secrets the territory still held, and now, as King, he realized that there always would be.  The Pride Lands were as full of mystery as they were of life.

Life—this was what Freak was protecting from his twin, a warrior of death and destruction.  He was fighting for the right to exist—and not just his.  His battle would be on behalf of every living being in the Pride Lands.

There was no motion, the li-tigon realized.  No noise.  Not even a distant, non-sentient bird, a dozen miles from Pride Rock, could be heard.  Everything had stopped for Freak—the Earth itself had stopped spinning, waiting for the li-tigon to accept his responsibilities.  Once he did, things would continue.  But until he did, they couldn't.

Freak hadn't been told what to do next, but he didn't need to be.  After all, leadership was as much a part of who he was as the scar on his face.

According to Kochai and Uvuli, yes, in fact, his roar had changed.  It was louder, and deeper too—but it wasn't the roar of a lion.  It was the roar of a being that was mostly lion but a little bit tiger—familiar and foreign all at once.

It certainly was inspiring.  As it struck the gathered felines below, they all couldn't help but jump, just a little—though they all remained silent.

Freak looked down.  His friends, family—his subjects—were bowing.  After a moment, he turned, to see that Simba was doing the same.

The li-tigon tilted his head; he didn't know what to do.  His face carried no discernable emotion, but those that knew him knew that he was incalculably proud and _honored_ to be the new Lion King.

Simba stood.  Smiled.  And then, he spoke in that calm, negotiator's tone, one so comforting that Freak shut his eyes to hear it properly—he'd dreamed about it for months, after all.

"Well… we're finished here.  You're the new Lion King… how does it feel?"

As always, Freak chose his words carefully before speaking.

"My duty… it's challenging.  But not overwhelming.  I can do it… if I'm wise, careful, compassionate… if I have a very, very good adviser."  Pointedly, the li-tigon looked at his cousin.

"I might be able to help.  I don't have anything planned for the next few months… your voice has changed.  You've… changed."  Simba stared at Freak, realizing, for the first time, how much bigger he was than the diminutive li-tigon that he'd last seen so long ago.  His pronounced stripes, his different eye color, his new, powerful physique… everything was different.  But this was still his cousin—of that there was no question.

"I've been busy for some time.  You saw the female I brought with me?...  She's my relative.  My blood."

"I see."

The two Kings, one former and one current, stared at one another for some time.

"I have a question.  Are you ready for your first official assignment as my adviser?...  That's not my question."

"No, no, I understand," Simba nodded, diplomatically.  "Ask away."

"If we're finished… why are we being so formal?"

Simba smiled.  Now, he was the one to spend a few seconds pausing, choosing his words carefully.

"Good question," the red-maned lion replied.  "Welcome home."

The silence ended as an exuberated roar rose from below Pride Rock.  Freak raced forward to meet his cousin—for the first time in his life, he actually played with someone close to his own age and size.  The li-tigon was a full-grown cat, as was Simba, but for a few moments, they both acted like they were cubs again, and they were justified in doing so.  It had been so, so, so long since they'd last seen one another.

Their jubilation wasn't exclusive for long, though.  Seconds later, a rush of lions lifted Freak bodily off the ground, before covering him in a series of feline displays of affection.  The li-tigon laughed out loud, but no one heard him—they were all too busy embracing him, praising him, welcoming him back to his homeland—many, for the first time.

The hyenas, though, didn't immediately join.  After all, they were welcoming back Uvuli—she'd seemingly returned from her dead.  For the first time since his mate had been executed, Usiku of the Bloody Shadows had tears in his eyes; he barely allowed anyone else to touch his daughter until he'd practically smothered her.

"Uvuli, Uvuli, Uvuli…" he said her name over and over again.  Finally, he stepped back, beaming at her for a long moment—T, Ed, Banzai, and Shenzi had a chance to welcome their little sister back.  "Where have you been?" the aging, black hyena asked.  "And… who is this little lady?  Hello…"

One must read Jagabor's work to recognize how utterly bizarre it was for a son of Kivuli of the Bloody Shadows to coo to a young cub sincerely.  Yes, that's advertising—and yes, that's disclosure.

Kochai had hidden behind Uvuli, green eyes nervously flitting back and forth between the unfamiliar beings all around her.  Her golden tabby markings quite contrasted with the dark, slate tones of the hyenas' fur—she was easy to spot, and, in moments, all eyes were on her.  Until, of course, she blushed and dived behind Uvuli, refusing to peer out again.

"Oh, this is Kochai.  Dad, Kochai; Kochai, uh, uncle Usiku... um, and those are big brothers Ed and Banzai," she said, pointing towards the psychotic hyena and his pug-nosed friend—Ed replied with an insane cackle; Banzai simply nodded and said, "Sup?"  "And that's big sister T, and aunt Shenzi—"

"Watch it—"

"Okay, big sister Shenzi," Uvuli grinned.  "Kochai is Freak's grandfather's brother's daughter… hey, what are you hiding from?  Come out here so everyone can see you."  The black hyena female turned.  For a moment, protesting mewls were heard, but, quickly, Uvuli managed to catch Kochai in her paw and slide her forward into view again.

Obviously, the hyenas had never seen a tigress kitten before—nor even a lioness cub for generations.  They stared at her for several moments, taking in every detail of her, from her soft, white-orange fur, to her bright green eyes, to her strawberry (ice cream) nose, to her keen, velvety ears, to the tail that she'd not quite grown into yet—she was strikingly beautiful.  Almost too cute to believe.

"If-if you were wondering," Kochai said, in her quiet, high pitched, accented voice, "I get most of my looks from my mother.  She was prettier than I was… but I will be stronger than she was, and a better fighter, too.  She had white fur, and green eyes, and she had black stripes, and she was from the Feet of the Himalayas, and that's enough about my mother; my father would be very jealous.  My father was the brother of Shere Khan; his name was Nasher, because their names together form the name of someone very important.  He had orange fur, and stripes, and he was an atheist, like me—"

"Kochai, quit babbling," Uvuli suggested.  "And that's not true.  I thought you were agnostic—and even then, not really.  You're more like… secular-_leaning_."

"W-well, 'agnostic' is a synonym for weak atheist, yes?...  At the very least, I'm a skeptic about these things.  I've always been a skeptic about these things," the tigress said.  "Even when I was very young, I couldn't completely believe that there is a giant force of some sort above us, always looking down and keeping track of things—"

"Kochai, you're babbling again," Uvuli sighed, causing the young tigress to fall silent, mumbling something about how she didn't wish to babble.  The hyena looked around at her compatriots, then her father.  Above them, she noted, the lions were still obsessing over Freak—many of the felines that now called the Pride Lands home, it seemed, were unfamiliar to her.

"Well… whaddaya think?" the youngest hyena asked.  She felt real concern for a moment—supposing the hyenas didn't approve?  Supposing that they weren't even willing to let Kochai stay?  After all, the Pride Lands were either at or were approaching their carrying capacity of apex predators.  Kochai didn't eat much, but even a single grain of rice can tip the scale.

Uvuli's countenance hardened.  If Kochai wouldn't be allowed to stay—

"Ed's got a question," Banzai suddenly said.  He looked directly at Kochai, causing the young tigress to squirm where she sat, cautiously moving towards Uvuli again.  "Are you always this shy?  Is that why your name's Ko-shy?  What kinda name is that—where are you from?"

"My name is _not_ 'Ko-shy'," the tigress protested.  "It is 'Ko_chai_.'  It's very easy to pronounce—and it's a Hindustani name."

"Get outta here," T said—perhaps not the best choice of words; they caused the tigress's ears to flatten and her head to hang.  "Hindustani… my cousin's from around there."

"Really?" Kochai said, suddenly looking up with a smile—all the other hyenas simply looked confused, and stared at T.  What was she talking about?

"Nah, just kidding.  Bazinga!"

There was something about the way T laughed that just made it infectious—soon, not just Kochai was laughing, but what was important was that Kochai was laughing.  Finally, she knew what Uvuli and Freak had for so long—she'd be accepted as family by those in the Pride Lands immediately.

* * *

It took over an hour for Freak to be introduced to everyone in the Pride Lands.  He already knew Tanga, but the Eastern Nomads and Aoi were completely strange to him.  Though they all had important things to do, the li-tigon took the time to learn all of their names.  He would have done more, but time was short and he had a lot to be caught up on.

It was just before midday when Freak decided that he needed to look around the Pride Lands for himself; it would be his first official patrol as Lion King.  At the base of Pride Rock, he prepared to move out, the rest of the Pride—including the hyenas and Kochai—formed up around him.

Freak looked at the crowd gathered before him, their powerful forms upraised from their grayish backdrop.  His gunmetal eyes glided across theirs—various faces of three distinct species looked back at him.  All he saw was family; beings that he had to protect with his life, if needed.

_"There are many of us,"_ the li-tigon thought.  _"I'll have to do a lot of hunting to feed so many…"_  He paused, and smiled, seemingly for no reason.  In the Pride Lands, he realized, no one feline did all the hunting.  Many paws made work light.

"There's a lot of work to do," Freak said out loud.  "I would like the lionesses to go hunting.  Kovu, and my friends from the Eastern Jungle… please patrol the borders.  Ignore the gorge south of there; pay extra close attention to the northeast.  Roderik, Aoi, Simba, Tanga… we're going somewhere.  Usiku, T, Shenzi, Uvuli, Ed, Banzai—you're coming with us for the first leg of the trip."

The li-tigon considered telling everyone what he had in mind—until he realized that, actually, he didn't know.  Ah well.

"In the event that we're not back by nightfall… I'm leaving Kovu, Nala and Kiara in charge.  If our mission isn't over by dusk, please return to Pride Rock, and don't worry.  We'll be alright."  Freak smiled—he was sure of that, though he wasn't quite sure what their mission was as yet.  He looked around, for a moment, wondering if he'd forgotten anything—then, his gaze settled on Kochai.

Though the kitten was sitting politely, quietly, the li-tigon had been around her long enough to tell that the expression in her eyes was pleading.  It didn't take Freak a second to realize what it was that she was silently asking for.

"Please take Kochai with you," the striped male said, turning to the lionesses of the pride.  "Teach her to hunt if possible; she won't be much trouble."

A smile lit up the young tigress's face, and, a moment later, she'd happily trounced her way to the lionesses, shyly cheek-rubbing any of them that she passed close enough to.  Freak's gaze followed her, for a minute, but his smile faltered.  Everyone was happy, but things simply weren't right.

A year ago, the Sun would have been out and _bright_, encouraging the pride to take rest for the day.  Now, it was overcast and somewhat chilly; a steady zephyr brought the felt temperature down further.  This served to remind Freak of what he was doing—he was fighting so that the Sun could shine again.

"If everyone would look after one another, I'd be very happy."  Without realizing it, the first phrase of that sentence had been spoken in the emotionless monotone that Freak had employed for the majority of his life.  The last few words, though, carried with them a deep, desperate plea—paramount of the li-tigon's goals was the safety of his friends.

"I think that's all," Freak said, glancing at Simba—the lion nodded.  "So, remember… be back here by dusk.  And be safe…"  To drive the message home, the li-tigon nearly glared at every one of the beings before him.  It was almost like he was the leader of a counter-assassination corps again.

"All right… let's go."

The pride broke apart with a swift sense of purpose that only Freak could inspire.  The lionesses moved towards the last known location of a rather extensive group of wildebeest that they'd been tracking for several weeks; Kochai followed easily despite her size.  The Nomads and Kovu headed out in all directions, though their numbers were rather balanced away from the hunting grounds.  Most of their numbers made their way to the northeast, intending to cover the scarcely traveled border with the White Sands region.

The hyenas, male lions of the group, and Aoi followed Freak at a light jog.  They made good time, taking a long, roundabout route towards the northwestern region of the Pride Lands—every single one of them was struck by how precious and how _fragile_ their home was.  It was true that the trees and the earth and the rocks and the terrain were strong, but the force of evil couldn't be underestimated.  It had been, a generation ago, with disastrous consequences.  Only barely had the Pride Lands survived the last time evil had taken control of them, and the new evil that threatened Freak's homeland was far, far, far stronger than Scar ever had been.

Soon, the li-tigon made his destination the Sun itself.  It hung low in the sky, lingering above the horizon.  Apart from a vast, grassy plain that broke off into blurred nothingness, there was nothing to hide its yellow-orange rays from his body—he basked in it, often moving forward with his eyes shut.  It had been too long since he'd felt the joy of being home.

For the most part, those that had been assigned to travel with Freak were silent, as he was.  Periodically, the hyenas would chatter among themselves, but even Ed generally kept his mouth shut.  Everyone was staring at Freak, their warrior, their savior—he was powerful, beautiful, and, most importantly, he was there among them.  Talk about inspiring.

Roderik was eying the li-tigon in a way most others didn't.  He and Tanga, as the oldest in the pride, sometimes found themselves acting their age—sometimes, they didn't like to practice fighting or hunting or stalking.  They enjoyed the occasional game of chess together; sometimes they simply relaxed on plush armchairs before the fireplace in bathrobes to debate philosophy.

"He's very strong," Tanga said softly, scarcely breathing hard despite the tough pace Freak was setting.  "Not the ideal build for an assassin, perhaps, but as we can see, he's very fit.  I'm sure he has a marvelous cardio system under all that muscle—given time, I feel sure that I could forge him into the ideal hunting machine.  I can imagine him running for days without rest, simply to track down and corner one target—and after taking it down, running again for days to get home."

"I'm sure that our warrior can do anything he sets his mind to," Roderik said simply.  "Although… I admit that I'd like to see his stealth skills at play.  That could be… interesting."  The white-maned lion smiled—then he turned to Simba.

"You know… now that Shujaa is our warrior _and_ our King, he can do things that… most of us… generally… can't," Roderik said, slowly.  "That is to say… he should be able to manipulate the Land… that is, the elements… in manners that simple physics can't explain."

"I think I understand.  It's an extension of magic—well, sort of," Simba replied.  "Rafiki used to be able to do things like that… at least, I think so.  I only saw him fight once, and it wasn't for very long."

"That's because, at the end of the day, Rafiki is not a lion," Roderik reminded the former King.  "I'm not slighting my old colleague; he can do many things with his eyes shut that I never will.  But you understand what I'm saying—he's limited by the form he was born into."

That seemed fair enough, but there was little to be gained by speaking more, so Simba just nodded.  Or perhaps it was because he, like Roderik and Tanga, saw the wisdom in saving his breath—Freak was starting to move faster.

There weren't many hours of sunlight left, and every one of them was extremely valuable.  Freak was starting to understand what he was looking for—but he wasn't sure that he could find it.  Or that he'd know what to do when—if—he did.

"Usiku, Uvuli, Ed, Banzai, Shenzi, T," the li-tigon said, suddenly, "it's time for us to part ways.  Spread out, but _do not_ get within a mile of the border.  Remember to go back to Pride Rock at dust…"

Slowly, the hyenas began to split off, continuing to run even as they spread out, moving to cover as much of the border region as possible.  They soon disappeared into tall, dry grasses that brushed against Freak's chin—but the li-tigon heard Uvuli call to him quite clearly.

"Where are you going?  What are you doing?"

"We're going to the Bloody Shadows," the li-tigon replied.  "As for why… I don't want to get your hopes up.  We'll be home soon… I'll see you very soon, Uvuli."

"Yeah.  Right."

Mixed into the black hyena's cynical voice was an unmistakable tone of sadness.  Freak wasn't sure what to make of that—did she really think that he'd let himself die so soon?  Or was she just going to miss him?  If he was more callous, or less socialized, he would have pointed out that she'd thrived during the year they'd spent apart—but now, Freak didn't immediately know how to reply.

When the words came to him, though, the li-tigon immediately knew that they were the right ones.

"I love you."

Three simple words carried with them a deceptive amount of meaning—they certainly shut Uvuli up; Freak could practically hear her blushing in reaction to them.  It occurred to the li-tigon that because of what he said, their secret relationship had been rather compromised—it also occurred to him that he didn't care.  Things between him and Uvuli would have to be put on a backburner, anyway, until he was finished his work.

Although Freak could tell that Simba, at the very least, was beaming at him, probably holding back more than a few snide remarks, he wasn't bothered.  That could be because they were getting closer and closer to the northwestern boundary—and as they did, Freak slowed down.

Then, he stopped.

"This is… different."

And it as.  Freak had intimately experienced the widest variety of environments that any living cat ever had—Kochai might potentially catch up to him, someday, if she were to follow her dreams and travel the Land of the Spirits.  For now, though, the li-tigon was the best traveled feline in existence.

But he'd never seen nor conceived of an African moonscape before.

Dust dominated everything.  Dust, and ashes, and death.  There was no grass—in fact, there was nothing green at all, though the abundance of organic material made the environment ideal for habitation.  But nothing decayed, either—as Freak focused his impressively powerful, gunmetal eyes on the distant scene of a battle that was even more distant, he could see the dead bodies of dozens of assassins—preserved, up until that very day.

Dozens of large, tall boulders meant that he couldn't see as far as he might on a flat landscape, though.  For all Freak knew, there could be some other force hiding in the Bloody Shadows.

That was a remote possibility, but a frightening one.  All at once, Freak wished he'd brought a larger force, and thanked himself for not putting too many good lions in danger.  Something about the Bloody Shadows… simply didn't make him feel right.

"We're going to cross the border, and once we're in the Bloody Shadows, we're going north," Freak said.  He turned, slightly, peering over the distant landscape.

"It looks like there's been some flooding… so be ready to swim.  And try not to stay in the water for too long… it smells strange."

The li-tigon glanced down at his massive paws; his fur was dark and striped, perfect for camouflage in almost any environment—this was no exception.  Tanga, Roderik, and Simba could make do, but Aoi had him worried.

Freak turned to look the white lioness up and down, for a long moment, allowing her brilliantly green eyes to sear back into his for a moment.  For a long moment, the li-tigon thought, weighing his options… then, he nodded.

"Aoi, please go back to Pride Rock.  This is going to be dangerous, and you can't blend in here.  You'll be a target… and if something happens do to you…" the li-tigon's voice died down, and he simply shook his head.  "So.  Please leave."

"Why?  Because I'm white?"  The lioness tilted her head, speaking in a soft, utterly emotionless tone.

"Yes," Freak replied simply, "and that's a liability.  You'd be at great risk if you went into the Bloody Shadows…  This isn't about gender or anything.  It's just… you're limited by the way you're born.  By the way you look."

A moment after he'd said it, Freak realized his hypocrisy.  But Aoi was already speaking.

"I've heard a lot about you, Shujaa," the white lioness began slowly.  "I've heard about the hardships you've had to endure because of how you were born.  Well, I'm not belittling what you've suffered, but don't underestimate what Akane and I had to go through in our homeland."  She paused.  "I know that your mother attempted to kill you at birth… that's something we have in common," she finished in a hollow sounding tone.

Simba, Roderik and Tanga stared at the white lioness.  After glancing at the three lions, Aoi saw that she had to explain, and did so in that same, empty voice.

"Eugenics are very popular in the White Sands—our leaders have been attempting to create a master race for several generations.  At birth, only cubs that react properly to—" Aoi paused, swallowing.  "Our mothers set their paws on our heads… and start to press.  You're only allowed to live if you fight back instead of simply crying.  Apparently, I only struck at the last moment."  The white lioness smiled blankly.  "My three siblings… weren't as assertive."

The grisly story made the fur on the back of Freak's neck stand up.  For a moment, he thought over what he'd just heard.  Aoi's mother wasn't like his—Chukizo had tried to mercy-kill her cubs, and, in one case, she'd succeeded.  But to kill innocent, defenseless children in order to alter the genetic makeup of a pride?... that was horrifying.

Freak looked at Aoi for a moment.  Then, he turned back to the deadened landscape that was their destination—he still wasn't quite sure why.  After another minute of careful consideration, the Li-tigon King spoke.

"If you have to… come with us, Aoi.  We may need a skilled fighter like you… just be extra cautious.  Everyone has to come home."  Freak looked at the lions after that.  Like Aoi, there was no fear or apprehension on their faces—if needed, it seemed, they wouldn't hesitate to die for him.

"Alright," the striped male murmured, facing the Bloody Shadows for a long moment again.  "Get ready to swim and then move—we're going to have to be very quiet, and very fast.  Don't plan on eating until we get home, either."

The li-tigon thought to himself for a moment—he was no great orator, but he could tell that his words hadn't exactly been inspiring.  The four cats he'd brought along with him took his flanks; the five of them stood atop a rock, inches from the deep, broad river that buffered the Bloody Shadows from the Pride Lands.

"On the bright side, there's little chance of heat exhaustion.  Now, let's go."

Staring at one another after Freak leaped forward, silently diving into the river, the four lions shared a somewhat uneasy smile.  They followed him—but not without an uncomfortably palatable sense of dread.

* * *

Snow was one of the few natural wonders that Freak had never seen in his life.  Perhaps if he were ever to experience it, though, he wouldn't be completely confused—after all, the conditions he and the four powerful fighters he'd brought along with him were experiencing were somewhat similar to a foggy sort of flurry.

For some reason, precipitation into the Bloody Shadows wasn't water-based.  What it was couldn't easily be identified—Freak couldn't identify the inch or so of whitish, grayish dust that had covered the land by sight, scent, texture, or taste.  He'd crushed some of the collected matter with his paw, then lifted it to his mouth—no, it wasn't familiar.

Their course was roughly northward, with a slight bias towards the west.  Flitting in and out between the dead, scarred trees, the Pride Landers—Aoi especially—were like phantoms.  They moved in a loose group with a spread of about ten meters, giving them plenty of room to react to anything that happened without worrying about friendly-fire, so to speak.

When they came to bodies, which was often, despite how far they were from the majority of the fighting, Freak would always stop and listen—just for a second.  The hyenas were dead, he was sure… but on the very edge of his perception, he swore he could _almost_ hear something within them.  That was discomforting.

"Ssh, ssh… stop," the li-tigon whispered, after perhaps half an hour of moving.  "Let's take a break… get our bearings."

Freak crouched, and, keen, gunmetal eyes scanning the forest before him, he heard Aoi, Simba, Roderik, then Tanga form up on him.  They were all quietly panting, just like he was—it was hard to breathe the heavy, impure air.  Nothing had died in the Bloody Shadows for months, but the place was still rank with the odor of decay.

The li-tigon glanced at his followers, telling them to hold their position.  Then, he moved forward, just a little.

The corpse before him was resting at the base of a tree at a strange angle—like it had been thrown against the trunk with such force that it had died on the spot.  Such a cause of death was entirely plausible, but Freak wanted time to carefully examine the bodies—he needed to know what was going on.

Cautiously, though without a trace of the disgust he felt showing on his face, the li-tigon examined the body.  Its fur had mostly fallen off, leaving its gray, saggy skin clinging, limply, to surprisingly well-preserved bones.

Freak looked into the hyena's eyes—empty sockets stared back at him, and that was strange.  Perhaps after the battle, the assassin's eyes had been eaten?  The li-tigon had no way of knowing.  He noted that the hyena's skull structure was somewhat abnormal—its jaws were longer by perhaps an inch, and its cranium was quite spherical.

Maybe the hyena was just a freak.

Regardless, the li-tigon continued to examine it for another moment, before glancing back at his troops—it was time to leave.  Silently, the five cats continued northward, picking their way through the sparse, dead forestation and over the settling white dust—the snowstorm, so to speak, had ended.  The air was clear.

Freak was perhaps three hundred yards away from the corpse when his ear twitched—he shook his head, though, and kept moving, low to the ground, fast, silent.  Nothing in the Bloody Shadows made sense, so it wasn't out of line for him to hear quiet somethings  from time to time.

However, three hundred yards behind the li-tigon, there was movement.

* * *

They were moving across a dusty, dry grassland.  In the far distance, Freak observed more trees—his eyes narrowed.  In the far northwest of the Bloody Shadows, it seemed, the river between it and the Forbidden Island thinned.  The two different regions got to within fifty yards of one another.

It was night, by then, and though by Freak's count there ought to have been a waning gibbous moon in the sky, there was nothing.  Cloud cover let through only the dimmest gray lighting, but it was enough to see.  Freak kept moving.

By then, however, the li-tigon was starting to tire.  Roderik was faring the best of them all, owing to his life as a Nomad.  Aoi was young and full of life; she could keep the pace up for some time yet.  Tanga and Simba… would need a break.  Soon.

The cats' coats soon became dusty with the whitish powder that covered every inch of the Bloody Shadows.   Soon, they were all more or less the same shade of light gray—Freak's stripes managed to show through the camouflage coating, but that was all.  It took effort to not give into instinct and shake himself off, but the li-tigon knew that every advantage in a strange land was a good one.

The li-tigon looked upwards, briefly seeking inspiration or information from the Spirits above.  Even his determined gaze, however, couldn't pierce the darkness between himself and everyone that had left him—he sighed.

Then smiled, guiltily.

"I wish I could tell you what we're looking for," Freak mentioned, in a relatively soft voice.  "But I don't know.  This isn't a surprise, or something like that… I really don't know what we're looking for."

"It must be important," Simba panted, "to make you break your own rule about being out at night.  Are you sure you don't know what it is, Shujaa?  Think back… you might remember…"

The li-tigon tilted his head, but complied.  The war with the Bloody Shadows had happened so, so long ago; he couldn't be expected to remember every single detain of the battle.  Especially since he'd lost Vitani that day.

"I don't know," Freak finally said.  He hoped over a slate rock, then turned to look through the grass at Simba, running all the while.  "Do you?"

"I might," Simba replied, in a carefully measured tone.  "I think it's… nah, I don't want to get your hopes up."

"Alright."

The red-maned lion waited… and waited… then sighed.

"You're supposed to try to worm the answer out of me," he said exasperatedly, and, to Freak, out of the blue—the rest of the felines simply laughed or smiled, quietly, too close to exhaustion to speak.

"Why?" the li-tigon asked, utterly bewildered.  "I don't understand.  Is this a kind of social convention?  I'm sorry.  There's still a lot I have to learn."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Simba sighed.  "Anyway… well, we lost Rafiki.  Remember?  After you left… I spoke to Usiku about it, a lot.  From what I know… it could be that Rafiki came this way.  I don't know where else he could go and just vanish…"

"He could have gone to the Forbidden Island," Tanga offered suddenly, as Freak reeled from the sudden possibility.  "Roderik, Simba… I've never quite understood.  What is the Forbidden Island?  No one wants to talk about it.  The name," he said, "it's so… so…"

"Foreboding?" Aoi suggested.

"Foreboding, exactly," Tanga said, nodding his thanks to the white lioness.  "So, this Foreboding—Forbidden Island… tell me about it."

Simba and Roderik looked to one another, preparing their explanation.  The Forbidden Island was central to everything that was going on, in many ways, from the evil that had threatened their land for generations, to Freak's twin, to the existence of white mint ice cream—

That is… the Forbidden Island was one of the few main parts of the story that The Lion Sheikh has been purposefully vague about thus far.  When given, the explanation would make the li-tigon's role as King very, very clear—

"Stop."

The curt order was followed the instant it was given—the four lions froze in their tracks, sniffing at the air, listening closely, heads on swivels.  Freak, contrastingly, was staring forward at some distant object… what was it?  It was two miles away, at the edge of the Bloody Shadows, set in the center of an otherwise barren former grassland.

It wasn't a tree, nor any other sort of plant.  Was it a rock?... yes, it was a rock, of some sort, but a natural feature like this, so unique, so solitary… was it natural at all?

Freak's heart rose to his mouth, and, for a moment, he found speaking difficult.

"We're moving forward," he managed to rasp, a moment later.  "Stay close, and keep your guard up… this could be a trap…"

After hearing four different but very similar growls of assent, the li-tigon began to move forward.  First, his pace was slow, silent, measured—then, he got close enough to positively identify the rock… or, rather, what the rock had once been.

And when he did, he sprinted so fast that not even Roderik could hope to keep up with him.

There, after so long, was Rafiki—this was the mandrill responsible for too much in the Pride Lands to briefly list.  His staff was nowhere to be seen, and, Freak saw, his expression was one of pain—defiant, unflinching, laughing pain.  Even in the end, Rafiki hadn't forgotten his eccentricities.

Perhaps a moment later, the four lions managed to catch up to Freak.  Simba was panting too hard to say anything comprehensible—he tried to, for a moment, then ended up caressing Rafiki's rocky feet, begging the mandrill to speak or move.

Roderik's reaction, on the other hand, was notedly more conservative.  He merely looked at the mandrill, for a moment, then circled him.  After that, the old lion smiled tiredly.

"It's been a long time," he said, "since I saw my old friend.  I hoped to find him in better health than this…"  He shut his eyes.  Then looked back at Rafiki.  "What happened to you?  Who did this—and _how_?  What were you doing here, so far from the Pride Lands, so close to the Forbidden Island?"

"He can't answer," Tanga said, rather bluntly.  "He's been Petrified.  I've seen this before."

_"I've heard of it,"_ Aoi thought.  _"They say that the Northern Deities have the power to turn anyone that goes against them to stone.  I'm not sure if it's ever actually happened… but maybe this is their work.  Maybe they left the White Sands to come here for some reason, and Rafiki opposed them."_

Freak examined the mandrill for another minute, then shook his head—he didn't know how to deal with something like this.  So he turned to Tanga, speaking in a low, dull tone.

"You've seen this before?... where?"

"In the Unexplored Regions," the former assassin replied simply.  "There are creatures there with the power to do things like this to their enemies.  It was almost my fate, in fact—but that's a story for another time.  The bad news is that the longer this process has been allowed to go on, the harder it is to fix… but the good news is that yes, it is reversible."

Freak stared at Tanga, then back at Rafiki.  At first, he wasn't sure that the old, former assassin was talking about the same thing he was—how could Rafiki possibly be brought back to life when he was made of stone?

"How?" Simba asked.  "What do we have to do?  I'll do anything to bring Rafiki back."

"Are you sure you mean that?" Tanga said, turning to face Simba with a gravely serious expression on his face.  "Because this isn't going to be easy.  I don't even know if we'll succeed—it may be too late already."

"Anything," the red-maned lion repeated.  "As long as there's a chance.  We need Rafiki—all of you know this.  …What exactly do we have to do to… reanimate him?"  After a few minutes of panic, it seemed that Simba had calmed down and was starting to act like a leader again.

In response to his question, though, Tanga just smiled.  Then, he looked at the statue, for a moment.  Hopefully, it was lighter than it appeared.

* * *

Freak and Simba were the strongest of the group, so, they were the ones that carried Rafiki.  Aoi walked in front of them, while Tanga and Roderik covered their four and eight o'clock positions respectively.  There was no hope of moving stealthily, so the lions' best defense was to appear as threatening as possible.  That, hopefully, would be enough to deter any attack that might be coming their way.

The forest was fortunately not so thick that its trees prevented them from readily passing through.  The "snowstorm" had ended, Freak noticed, and everything around them was horribly still.  Collected white dust was tossed into the air by the slightest movement, unsettling for yards around them.

"Let's pick up our pace," Freak said.  "I don't want to be here any longer than necessary.  We'll eat and rest when we're home…"

A verbal reply was neither given nor necessary.  Freak received a nod from Aoi, and that was all—everyone was, like him, not scared, but… cautious, at least.  Concerned.

Slowly, the li-tigon noticed something—bizarrely, there were no bodies to be seen.  He hadn't kept perfect track of what he'd seen where, but he was sure that they were close enough to where most of the fighting had happened by then to see plenty of evidence of the war.

But nothing was there.  The forest was empty—and that simply didn't make sense.  Nothing could possibly have moved or destroyed so many bodies so quickly, so completely, without their notice.  Something else had to be at play.

Though more than a little wary of his surroundings, by then, Freak barely recognized the option of dropping Rafiki and sprinting back home.  Simba was right—the mandrill was absolutely necessary, and as long the possibility of bringing him back existed, they had to go for it.

And it wasn't like they'd been attacked… yet.

Freak wasn't used to the new Bloody Shadows, not yet.  He wasn't sure what smells belonged—everything looked the same—dead—and sounded the same—silent.  There were gradual fluctuations in the signals the li-tigon's keen nose gave him, but nothing really suggested that anything new had entered the area.

It occurred to Freak that every body he'd seen before might have not existed—at least, not in the physical sense.  They could have all been ghosts; disembodied spirits that had managed to linger around long enough to be seen one last time, before passing on.  Or maybe the li-tigon was just rationalizing—after all, he'd seen the impossible.

Aoi was a bit easier to see than it had been earlier.  The Sun had gone down, so the lioness's white fur stood out even more against its dark, grayish backdrop.  The second she froze, then lifted a fisted paw into the air, signaling a halt, Freak and Simba stopped in their tracks.

Tanga and Roderik kept moving, though, backing Aoi up—they were larger than the lioness, and by displaying themselves as presences ready to defend her, they would hopefully scare away whatever she was staring at.

Freak and Simba tried to look past the lions in front of them without luck.  Standing still for so long with Rafiki's full weight crushing down on them was difficult, painfully so—but neither of them said a word.  Not immediately, anyway.

The li-tigon's piercing gaze managed to penetrate a few hundred yards of forest and fog.  When he realized what he was seeing, he turned his head several degrees, and spoke to Simba.

"Drop Rafiki.  This fight won't be quick or easy."

Without hesitating for a second, the red-maned lion complied.  Somehow, he and Freak managed to coordinate their activities—they both jumped up, slightly, with an explosive burst of effort, then stepped aside rapidly.  Rafiki hit the ground between them, sinking several inches into the soft, dry ground—by the time he did, both Freak and Simba were at Aoi's side as well.

The distant, reddish orbs, hanging in midair, numbered in the dozens already.  But as the Pride Landers watched, they multiplied—soon, there were hundreds, then _thousands_ of those glowing entities in the air.  All were relatively close to the ground, though a few were far, far higher up than the rest.

They were soon moving to surround the Pride Landers.  In response, the cats got into a loose circle, so that none of them could be flanked.  As they did, Freak, at least, realized that the red globules universally moved in pairs.

"Roderik," Tanga whispered, quietly, extending his claws, "what time is it?"

"What?" the Nomad leader asked, cracking his neck, then shrugging his shoulders.   "I have no idea.  A little after… maybe ten o'clock…"

"No," the former assassin said, in a completely serious tone.  "It's zombie time."

Despite the gravity of their situation, a joke was appreciated.  Freak, predictably, didn't quite understand what was so funny.

Slowly, the undead forces started to move in.  The lack of cover and the complete flatness of the terrain meant that tactics were extremely limited.  But four of the five cats present—Simba, Roderik, Tanga, Freak—were brilliant strategists.  And all five of them were deadly in a fight.

"Stay close, and hold your ground," the li-tigon said.  "Don't tire yourself out, and if you can't maintain your front, say something.  I'll protect you."

As the zombie hyenas approached, Aoi noted, with disgust, the nature of their attackers.  They were little more than skeletons with atrophied limbs, fur stretched over bone and the barest amount of flesh.  Their movements were slow but malicious, and every single one of them was panting, loudly.  They never stopped staring, either.  That was disquieting.

Soon, the somewhat mummified hyenas were within twenty yards of the lioness, and still approaching.  Some of their numbers were especially weak—they were trampled underfoot by their brethren.  The strongest ones were still pathetically slow, but they had a massive numerical advantage.  There were no choke points here, no bottlenecks—this battle would be more impressive than Thermopylae.  Particularly if they won.

Aoi forced herself to hold her ground.  Her green eyes locked into the burning orbs of her enemies, and she bared her fangs.  They didn't retreat, but she didn't expect them to.

"Aoi," Freak said, from just next to her, without turning his head to face the lioness, "relax.  You think better and quicker when you're calm.  Breathe deeply, and focus on what you're doing.  Don't let your fear and anger rule you—you're better than that."

At first, the white lioness didn't understand.  In the seconds that followed, though, she started to.

"Fear and anger lead to hate… and hate is eventually self-destructive," she said softly.

The hyenas were three yards away by then, so close that she could count every one of their grizzled, mangy spots if she so wished.  There wasn't much time for the lioness to let go of her hate—but she managed to.

Their range of attacks, it seemed, was very, very small.  All the hyenas seemed to do was to rear up onto their hind legs and pathetically launch themselves forward in an attempt to tackle the Pride Landers.  Facing one or two or three or even eight or so of these assaults at once wasn't particularly difficult.

The problem was that there were so many hyenas, and that there was no room to maneuver.  There were no lulls in the battle, so Aoi had to constantly be on her toes.  Eventually, she found an efficient way of dispatching the undead hyenas—she'd slip between their forepaws and sever the nerves connecting their heads to their bodies.

Though gory, the brutal counter worked very well.  Sometimes, Aoi didn't power her claw strikes properly, and ended up completely decapitating her attackers—but for the most part, she struck with pin-point precision.

Freak soon realized that his battle strategy hadn't quite taken into account the sheer volume of dead bodies that would accumulate in such a small space.  He hadn't taken any bites yet, and neither had anyone else—that was good.  Normally, a single bite wouldn't be a remotely mortal wound, but the li-tigon had a feeling that the putrid jaws of the zombie hyenas held more than one secret.

"Climb onto the bodies," the li-tigon said, "and keep killing.  There's no way we're getting Rafiki out of here until there are none of these things left."

It was true.  Even if Aoi, Roderik, and Tanga managed to clear a brief path forward, there was still the problem of getting Rafiki off the ground again—furthermore, there was no way to defend two cats from an attack coming from all angles with only three.

Taking the high ground, so to speak, made very little difference.  The mass of bodies that Freak and the rest of the Pride Landers was very dynamic, and in a battle, one more thing to worry about was one more liability.

Exhaustion was starting to become a real concern, by then.  Freak parried an assault, then jumped forward with a signature headbutt—the hyena he'd attacked was launched back with such force that it took down several of its compatriots, but less than a second after they fell, a dozen more took their place.  The area had been so saturated with enemy forces that soon, everyone was trudging through bodies, living and dead—Freak couldn't completely suppress the fear of drowning in blood, or in a wave of attacks.

He began to fight a little more vigorously.  Or, more precisely, desperately.

Freak started to regret running the group so hard.  Although he couldn't imagine staying the night in the Bloody Shadows—which they'd almost certainly need to do if their pace was significantly decreased—anything was better than fighting unending legions of hyenas that should have been fragile skeletons on the ground.

Regret wasn't going to help them now, though.  Nothing could get them out of this but their own skill—no divine aid was coming, and the idea of sending one fighter away to call for reinforcements was ludicrous.   Freak's expression set into one less neutral than it had been before—he wasn't going to have anyone die.  Not here, not now, not yet.  He had to change things.

In the end, the li-tigon wasn't completely sure how he did it.  All he knew was that he executed his next dozen or so strikes with a determination he hadn't known before then.  When Freak  stopped attacking, he realized that not only the hyenas immediately in front of him had been cut to shreds—but he'd slashed a wide, arcing swath through the oncoming mass of zombies.

Unknown to him, his appearance had rather changed while he'd engaged in the counterattack—his stripes had flashed crimson red while his fur became pure white.  The li-tigon's gunmetal eyes opened widely as he attempted to replicate what he'd just done with stunning success.  It seemed that his reach had been extended; the vectors that his claws drew through the air overlaid with destructive energy.

Within a minute, Freak had effectively put down all attackers within thirty-six degrees on either side of him for at least ten yards.  Not wasting a breath, the li-tigon proceeded to press his attack so that soon, the Pride Landers were staring at him, watching as he single-handedly eliminated the zombies that had, until then, been their responsibility.

Owing to the fact that the zombie hyenas seemed to originate from the south—the direction Freak had been facing, so that he could take the brunt of the attack—now, the Pride Landers could rally up and form a new counter offensive.

By then, they were all covered in blood, and, by then, most fighting forces would be running out of energy.  And while each of the Pride Landers were panting, by then, Freak managed to instill new energy in them by simply looking at them, channeling some of the infinite will behind those steely grey eyes into their bodies.

"We'll rest soon," the li-tigon said, as the hyenas—and perhaps a dozen zombie Phantoms—started to regroup for another attack.  "But first, we have to finish this.  I've asked a lot of you already… but I'm going to ask a little more."

Freak turned forward again, his striped form somewhat closer to the enemy force than the rest of the Pride Landers'.  The collected white dust that had largely defined the Bloody Shadows was gone, blasted into the air by the miniature war—now, the ground was just black.  But it seemed that nothing could crush the li-tigon's will to survive—after all, nothing, as yet, had.

"Will you run with me?" Freak asked.  "After that… we'll rest.  I promise."

There was no answer.  The hyenas  were still approaching, Freak noted uncomfortably—the cuffed end of his tail began to twitch, and he glanced at his followers for a brief moment.

"Is that a real question, Shujaa?" Tanga asked.  "You know our answer… or at least mine."

"And mine," said Roderik.

"And mine," said Simba.

"And mine," said Aoi.

Freak nodded, slowly.  The hyenas were ten yards away, by then, and that distance was rapidly closing—but he no longer felt even the slightest apprehension.  This fight was over.

"Alright, then… let's go," the li-tigon said.  With a strikingly loud roar, he raced forward, shortly followed by the loyal four at his side.  He attacked with the force of a thunderbolt, with a ferocity no one had ever seen before.

* * *

Freak kept his promise.  After the battle had been won, the Pride Landers had taken refuge around one tree perhaps fifty yards from the nearest dead body—just in case.  Rafiki had been left in the center of the killing field, upright, as if overlooking the bloodbath with the distant curiosity of a philosopher.

The Bloody Shadows were not peaceful.  They wouldn't be until the Pride Landers both left and brought real tranquility to the entire Land of the Spirits, ostensibly by killing Kifo.  But, for the moment, the Bloody Shadows were bareable.

They remained cold and barren, though.  For heat, the five cats had set themselves up not two feet from one another.  At first, Freak had intended to grab perhaps an hour of rest before finding something to eat—then, he'd took the weight off his paws and realized how exhausted he was.  He'd need more than a few hours of sleep, it seemed.

Aoi and the three male lions were no exception.  Within minutes of lying down, Freak noted that they were deeply sleeping—he yawned, and shut his eyes, intending to join them.

_"Maybe,"_ the li-tigon thought, idly, _"I'll have a dream… which will tell me how I should kill Kifo.  That would be helpful…"_

* * *

Freak was in a place unfamiliar to him.  It bore only the slightest similarities to the city he'd made his home what already felt like so long ago.  These buildings were far, far, far larger—and there were many more people walking in and out of them , as well as simply traversing through the street for purposes beyond his comprehension.

The air was cold.  It wasn't raining quite yet, but the sky was overcast.  Freak tilted his head—and turned.  All around him were people.  He felt concern, but then realized that somehow they didn't see him.  A li-tigon in a city warranted the deployment of more than one or two SWAT teams, after all.

Confused, but interested in finding out what he was doing, Freak began to walk.  Almost immediately, he fell.  His face impacted the ground, leaving a sliver of flesh behind.  He saw stars, for a moment, and attempted to stand, but couldn't.  His limbs didn't work—at least, not in the way they were used to.

Freak managed to roll over.  By then, he was starting to breathe a little quickly—what was going on?  The people all around him weren't helping, but the li-tigon saw that he'd made a faulty assumption.  They could detect him.  Many were glancing down at him before averting their gazes and moving on.  Some were attempting to hide cruel snickers behind their hands.

None moved to help him.

After a moment, Freak thought to look at himself.  He had a vague, impossible suspicion in mind—so, he didn't jump out of his skin when he brought his paws before his face and saw that they were hands.  Pale, pinkish, human hands.

Freak looked to one side.  Then the other.  No one else was falling down.  It seemed that Raj, Shah, and the few other men he'd seen in his life weren't the exceptions to the rule—somehow, humans managed to get around on just two feet.

Well.  If they could do it so naturally, he could learn to.

With great difficulty, Freak managed to stand.  Steadying himself against a tall, metallic pole, he ignored the cars whizzing past him to one side; if he didn't, he'd surely panic.  Instead, he tried to figure out where he was.

Of course, Freak had no idea how to make sense of the thousands of bits of information constantly flowing around him.  The marvel of the written word was one that escaped him entirely, and while any number of the various characters flashing their way across his vision bore semblance to the one Raj had taught him to recognize, the li-tigon didn't know what to make of them.

There were few things he did know, in fact, as he continued to search for something he could recognize.  Freak was somewhat sure that what he was experiencing wasn't reality—though he'd seen and experienced enough strange things in his life to know that anything was possible.  His location was unknown, as was _when_ he was—this could be some strange past or future.  Perhaps the li-tigon was looking at his fate.

Thinking, though, wouldn't get him far.  He simply didn't know enough to draw any conclusions about his purpose—not yet.  And so, slowly, carefully, Freak began to walk.

There were patterns, he began to realize.  By sticking with large crowds of people—close, but not too close—he was soon able to pick up on them.  It astounded the li-tigon that such a massive group of people could operate together like that, with no violence, nor any threat that _forced_ them to work together.  What were their goals—what were they doing?  And why, no matter where Freak went, was no one saying anything to him?

It was inconceivable.  All around him were _millions_ of people, but none, it seemed, had a word to share with him.  Was he useless?  Or perhaps diseased, somehow?

The latter possibility seemed unlikely.  After all, Freak was in the immediate proximity of dozens of individuals at any given moment.  It seemed that the state of his existence was simply inconsequential to everyone.  This was nothing like life in the Pride Lands, where the loss or sickness of even one individual was such a grave loss to the group that if not by simple morality, everyone cared about one another out of practicality.

Freak kept walking.  For hours.  And in that entire time, he saw nothing to challenge his conclusion—no one cared.

The li-tigon was back in the Jungle, it seemed, but knowing what he was missing from his life made his existence simply intolerable.  At some point, he came towards a river—by then, he'd made up his mind.

This had to be a dream of some sort, the li-tigon thought, although he was very aware of how much of that conclusion was wishful thinking.  Pinching himself didn't work—he'd have to do something a bit more extreme to wake up.

He found that he couldn't will himself to look around at things—not the billion dollar enterprises that had taken years and the cooperation of thousands of people to create.  They were irrelevant, because, in the end, all that mattered was how the creations of men served men.  It seemed that at some point, at least Freak had been left out.  And no one cared.

There was a series of metal poles between Freak and the dynamic, tumultuous surface of the water below—the briefest excuse of an impediment to his will.  The li-tigon climbed over it without a second thought, and, a moment later, he was falling through the air.

He'd been in the full view of several people when he jumped.  Freak couldn't be sure, but he didn't see one of them raising a finger—proverbially or otherwise—to stop him.

The li-tigon hit the water, and began to sink.  The world around him grew dim, and black, and, slowly, he began to fade away…

* * *

Freak's eyes opened slowly, as if he was resisting a great force in doing so.  He was sweating, curled up tightly; regardless of that, he was still cold.

Or he would have been, if it wasn't for the four other cats in his immediate proximity.  Though shaky and still struggling to separate dreams from reality, he couldn't help but feel very, very lucky that he wasn't alone, because some people never managed to pull themselves out of solitude every bit as deep as the only reality he'd known as a cub.

Freak looked at the felines around him.  Aoi was beautiful, truly—her sleek, pale coat made her stand out against the charred, blackened ground.  She almost reminded the li-tigon of Asal, the only other white feline he'd ever seen in his life.

Tanga and Roderik were still beings that he didn't know well.  Ironically, Freak had been the first feline Tanga had seen in a lifetime when he'd escaped from his prison in the Bloody Shadows, and Freak was the one that he had to thank for overthrowing his oppressors.  Roderik, on the other hand, had little connection to Freak, but the li-tigon still greatly respected the judgment of the old lion.  Anyone that could live to be _that_ old deserved reverence, and Roderik was still an active, dangerous lion.  And although his mane could use a trim, he also looked deceptively young.

Simba, of course, was the one Freak was most familiar with—his cousin, and up until perhaps twenty hours ago, the Lion King.  The li-tigon had been told that the transfer of power was needed to fully cement his purpose—after Kifo was defeated, Freak would be free to relinquish his title, and he had every intention of doing so.  He was a good leader in times of strife, but that was all.  Only Simba, with his wisdom, experience, and his ability to negotiate without using force could lead the Pride Lands.

Freak looked at his friends for a moment.  Then, he turned away and left them.  They'd earned a little extra rest, and a snack, at least, as well.  As leader, it was the li-tigon's job to provide.

* * *

Forty five minutes later, Aoi's ocean green eyes opened—instantly.  They didn't flutter or slowly, hesitantly force themselves open.  When the white lioness woke up, she did so with will and determination.  That's why, hardly two seconds after her mind entered consciousness again, she was on her feet.

Freak was gone, but lioness could smell him—he wasn't far.  Perhaps he was doing some reconnaissance.

_"He should have brought me with him,"_ Aoi thought, as she circled Rafiki, several times, to make sure that the mandrill hadn't been disturbed.  _"In a dangerous land like this, anything might happen."_

She found herself staring down at the perfectly shaped stone that formed Rafiki's face.  Although Aoi had never seen the shaman before in her life, he felt familiar—comforting, even.  She wondered what he was like—very serious, doubtless.  The strong and silent type.  Just like Akane…

"He's… nothing like that."

Freak's sudden phrase made Aoi jump—it had been spoken from just under ten yards away, and was followed by a somewhat loud, rather wet _flop_.  The white lioness stepped out from behind Rafiki's statue to see that Freak was back, with breakfast.  His kill was about three feet long and over a hundred pounds—but that was about all Aoi knew about it.

"What…" the white lioness said, slowly, "is that?  Where… did you find it?"

Freak tilted his head, then looked down at his kill again.  What was so strange about it?

_"Ah."_

The li-tigon nodded to himself.  "The White Sands is a desert, right?"

"Yes," Aoi said.  "It's much hotter and drier than any other territory I've seen.  I don't think it's rained in the White Sands since… our leader was a cub."

"That explains things.  This," Freak said, referring to his kill, "is a catfish."

"A _cat_fish," Aoi said, as if getting used to the word.  "So, it's _almost_ cannibalism to kill and eat it?  Since it's related to us?"

The li-tigon nodded, somewhat solemnly.  "But it's justified," he said.  "There's no way to live without killing—trust me, I've tried."  He smiled briefly.  "As long as we do it respectfully, while inflicting minimum pain and fear… it's a morally neutral action.  That's my belief."

"I see," Aoi said.  She hadn't actually heard much of what Freak had said.  Instead, she was wondering just how a sea-dwelling animal—one that looked so foreign to her—could possibly be related to lions.  Evolution, after all, wasn't a concept popular in the White Sands.

The white lioness didn't have very long to sort through the confusion in her mind, though.  Roderik, Simba, and Tanga were starting to wake up—and she knew that after eating, they had a long day ahead of them.

As Aoi cautiously tasted the briny, white flesh of an icthyoid for the first time, she stole a glance at Freak.  The li-tigon was the only decent swimmer out of them all—how on Earth were they going to get Rafiki back into the Pride Lands?

* * *

Back in black.

Literally.

Death, for him, had been roughly similar to the harrowing, falling experience that Kifo had… experienced.  When it was over, though, he'd reacted with extreme aggression—the hordes of ravenous, cutting, burning insects that had approached him were met not with fear, but with oaths so hair-raising that the Lion Sheikh has declined to detail them.

His Master was quite pleased with his new asset.

Although tall by the standards of his homeland, he still required a good deal of conditioning in order to find his place among the 6'8", ex-human warrior drones that served their Master with precision, skill, and overwhelming force.

A great deal of who he was had been cut away by the vicious scalpel that was his Master's hand.  The process had been painful, and long—two days of motionless agony.  He only managed to keep his mind by focusing on what was at the end of the road: power, and plenty of it.

He wasn't disappointed.

As his Master's most prized asset, he'd been allowed to retain a great deal of autonomy, as well as the ability to control his comrades, as well.  They wouldn't be rendered useless by increased effort from the opposition any longer.

He wasn't the only newcomer, either.  The Black Army was now eleven strong—it had ten deadly gunman, each armed with machineguns and machetes… and him.

Shah.

The combat he'd seen thus far hadn't made him sneeze.  Brutal, close-quarters fighting in the Unexplored Regions with man-sized insects; long-range engagements with aerial targets to the far northeast—he'd already fought and killed creatures previously beyond his comprehension.  And he was stronger because of it.

Still, his Master had learned well from Kifo—there had to be ironclad limits on how powerful his troops might become.  Shah had reached it quickly—but he was still confident of his powers.

He was running when he received his next assignment, traversing across a vast, barren grassland completely unknown to the Pride Landers and their allies.  Quite suddenly, he turned, making for the northwest—there wasn't any fighting to be done, not immediately.  They were being relocated—moved to hold the Pride Lands themselves hostage, while their Master made a few preparations.  Soon, Shah was flanked on each side by five of the most horrific fighters the lands had ever seen—bar two.  Himself, and Kifo.

* * *

"Don't get mad—get glad," Freak said, in what he hoped, but did not believe, was a hopeful, enthusiastic tone.  "Soon, we'll be back in the Pride Lands."

"And then," Tanga said, mockingly, "we can carry Rafiki _even more_.  All the way to Pride Rock!  Oh boy, this is gonna be so much fun—I can hardly hold it in!  Yippee ki yay, mother—"

"Don't make it worse," Roderik said through gritted teeth.  "This is difficult enough as it is."

Simba had woken up too exhausted to help Freak carry Rafiki again.  After Tanga had taken a shift of supporting the mandrill in his new, several hundred pound form, Roderik had been rotated in.  They were starting to get closer to the Pride Lands by then—and Freak, who'd carried Rafiki the whole time through, was starting to notice something.

He didn't say it, of course—he might have been mistaken.  Wishful thinking could be a double-bladed sword, Freak knew, but he regardless paid closer attention to the crushing weight on his shoulders.

Even in full light, the Bloody Shadows was a depressing place to be.  Although all enemy combatants had been eliminated, the once powerful "assassin-nation" was dead quiet, and eerie.  Freak didn't feel that he was being watched—just that he ought not to be in the Bloody Shadows.

Well, soon, the li-tigon would leave.  And he didn't plan to come back, ever.

Their guard had been lowered, somewhat; it seemed unlikely that anything would come to attack them again.  The cats were already in the vicinity of the Pride Lands—all they had to do to be untouchable was to cross that nearing border.

Freak shrugged his shoulders, testingly.  Then, smiling, briefly, he looked at Roderik.

"Rafiki's lighter," the li-tigon said.  "You've noticed."

It wasn't a question, but the old lion nodded.  Indeed, although the weight crushing down on Freak certainly wasn't insignificant, it wasn't as oppressive as it had been a few short hours before.

"It's because we're getting closer to the Pride Lands," Roderik explained, as Aoi moved forward, briefly, to clear the area ahead of them, just in case.  "Hopefully, we'll be able to ferry it across the Forbidden River… if not…"  His voice trailed off, and he slowly shook his head.  "Let's just be hopeful."

Freak agreed, and picked up his pace, although not to a significant degree.  The cats he'd brought with him into the Bloody Shadows really were incredible to have followed his orders on minimal food and water—but the li-tigon knew that they were running on empty.  And so was he, for that matter.

Perhaps, then, this was Freak's first mistake as a leader.  Patience might have been employed with a heavier hand—the li-tigon was still quite tired from his journey back to the Land of the Spirits; one nap wasn't nearly enough to restore his body to its full potential.  In the future, he'd have to be aware of the fact that even he had to take a break sometimes.

After all, his motto was, "Everyone is a threat," and not "You can sleep when you're dead."

* * *

By the time they were at the banks of the Forbidden River, where the deep, dark body of water tapered down to a passable width, Rafiki wasn't remotely heavy.  He still required two to carry, but that was because the size of his statue was such that he couldn't easily be balanced.

Still, getting the mandrill across the wide expanse of bottomless water might be difficult.  And Freak knew that dropping Rafiki would be an irreversible, fatal action—they had to get the petrified shaman across in one go.

To achieve that end, there was little they could do.  There wasn't time to build a vessel of some sort, and calling in reinforcements from the Pride Lands probably wouldn't help—swimmers among their ranks were limited, and any help they might offer would be off-put by the dangers of concentrating their forces in one area.  No, Freak and the four he'd brought along had to accomplish their task alone.

"One, two, three, down."

The li-tigon and Aoi lowered, then stepped away.  Inches from their paws, the icy water of the Forbidden River lapped at the sand, neither frothing nor making the gentle, ambient sounds that waves tended to.  Everything outside of the Pride Lands just wasn't the same as it had been before Freak had left.  Hopefully, someday, they might be restored to their original status—though, there wasn't much to say about the future of the Bloody Shadows.  The few living beings that traced their roots to that land had no intentions to return.

"How are we going to do this?" Simba asked, taking Freak's right side.  "Is there anything… any possibility, any idea, that we've ignored?"

"I don't think so," the li-tigon replied.  He frowned, a little—surely, there had to be a way to do this.  There was _always_ a way.

For a moment, the five felines simply rested their bodies, while searching their minds for an answer of some sort.  Their searches, though, were fruitless—completely.  And time was valuable.

"Alright," Freak said suddenly, but softly, "we're going to do this in the most direct way.  All of us are going to support Rafiki… it's not asking too much.  He'd do the same for us."

It was true, although not literally.  Rafiki had been a constant force for good for generations; abandoning him out of convenience was unthinkable.  So, grimly, the four other Pride Landers nodded, and got ready to swim.

Aoi was left on land so that she could push Rafiki onto the four males' backs.  To get in position, they were side by side, hunkered down, heads barely above water.  Their expressions were determined, but not what could be called hopeful.  The odds were well and truly against them, this time.

Even Simba couldn't think of any encouraging words to say.  The red-maned lion could barely muster a smile as he looked at Roderik, then Tanga, before focusing on the Pride Lands' shore—it was so close.  But for Rafiki, it might be too far.

"Ready?" Aoi said, looking out from behind the massive chunk of stone that was their mandrill shaman.

"Just do it," Freak said somewhat curtly.

The white lioness nodded, though of course Freak couldn't see it.  The li-tigon shut his eyes, briefly, focusing, before staring forward will the intensity of a freshly-sharpened blade.  Time, for him, ceased to have meaning, as did everything else, but for the anticipation of the familiar weight on his back, and the will to carry it forward…

Freak blinked.  Nothing was happening.  He noticed that Simba, Roderik, and Tanga were all staring at something, and that didn't please him.

"We," he said thinly, "are supposed to be getting Rafiki to the Pride Lands.  Not looking at… at…"

The li-tigon's voice trailed off rather quickly, and it was obvious why that was so.

"Talk about slipshod programming; look how buggy this is.  How could a serious glitch like this get by the beta testers?"

Whoever asked that question was quite reasonable in their sentiment.  Aoi had pushed Rafiki forward, yes—but the second the mandrill's statue had come in contact with the placid surface of the Forbidden River, it had started to… not float.  But it had started to glide, supernaturally, over the motionless, deep blue water.  And the vector of its motion suggested that it was going directly towards the Pride Lands.

Well.

"This makes our job… somewhat easier," Freak said seriously, breaking the four other cats' reverie.  "But we can't get cocky.  Let's go."

The li-tigon held his expression, for a moment, then laughed.  He swam forward, shortly followed by his friends—his own friends—looking over his shoulder at Rafiki.  The mandrill was still moving forward, face as stony and expressionless as it always was.

* * *

Once they were back on land, Rafiki didn't stop moving by himself.  If anything, he started to move faster, so that soon, Freak and his followers were jogging, briskly, in the wide swatch of grass flattened by the statue in front of them.

It was mid-morning, and Freak was somewhat concerned.  They were already a hundred yards into the Pride Lands, but they hadn't been contested yet.  Where was everyone?  Were they still asleep?

Freak looked up, briefly, the stripes racing up and down his sides barely shifting despite how fast he was moving.  He clenched his muscles, then pressed out—and, a moment later, the li-tigon was standing on Rafiki's statue, specifically, on the massive, perfectly chiseled block that the mandrill himself was perched on.  Tail twitching, slightly, he looked forward—their course was straight and true.

A moment later, the li-tigon noted that he'd rather underestimated the Pride Lands' security measures.  They had been noticed, probably moments before they'd actually entered the territory—it was just that there was so much land to cover that the hyenas deployed to the northwest were still approaching.

Freak nodded, coolly, and continued to look forward.  He mused about the future—specifically, the near future.  Even more specifically, the very near future.  Tanga knew how to bring Rafiki back—but the old, dark-furred lion had said that it wouldn't be easy, several times, when pressed for details.  The li-tigon didn't care, though.  As Simba had said—anything Rafiki needed would be given.

* * *

"That's blatant cliché," the li-tigon had said disbelievingly.

And he had been completely correct.

They were back at Pride Rock, although most Nomads, hyenas, and lionesses were still out in the field, prepared to defend the Pride Lands' borders.  Freak had looked around, for a moment, when Rafiki had finally ground to a halt just before the monolithic structure, to see if Kochai was around, but she wasn't.  Though sad that he wasn't able to greet his young relative, the li-tigon felt happy for her.  She seemed to be fitting in already.

The li-tigon was quite tired; he couldn't appreciate much about where he was or what he was doing—not then, anyway.  Simba, Aoi, Tanga, and Roderik were all still awake, but only just.  The days of constant action and minimal sleep had worn them all to the bones.

But there was still one more thing to do.

Rafiki was standing upright, again, facing Pride Rock.  After that, Tanga had walked around, for a few minutes, checking this, looking at that, occasionally unintelligibly muttering to himself.  And then, he'd turned to Freak and spoken, quite bluntly.

"He needs blood."

Marvelous.

"How much?" Freak sighed.  "And will any blood do?  We can knock a gazelle out, then bring it here…"

But Tanga was already shaking his head.  "No," the former assassin replied, briefly.  "He needs a certain kind of blood… I'm not completely sure of all the rules, actually.  But I believe," he said slowly, "that yours will work.  Simba, or Kovu, or perhaps Kiara or Nala… theirs may work as well.  But not to the degree that yours should.  And allow me to remind you that our chances of success are limited."

Freak was already swaying on his feet from exhaustion.  He hadn't slept properly for the longest time—despite everything, the li-tigon was still a slow learner.  This lesson, though—get enough rest—was not one that he'd forget easily.

"No, Simba," the li-tigon said, without needing to look at his red-maned cousin to know that the former Lion King was holding an extended claw to one of the major veins on his wrist.  "There's no point.  We don't want to waste blood—it's very valuable."

That was true, and, since Simba couldn't think of any reason to oppose Freak, he simply nodded, after a moment.  Then, he joined the li-tigon at Rafiki's side, on top of the massive, white block of stone that supported the mandrill's statue.  Already, Freak was preparing to open one of his blood vessels.

"I may pass out," the li-tigon warned, as he started to cut.  "Please catch me if I do.  This is a high place to fall from…"

"Don't worry, Shujaa," Simba replied.  "I'm right here."

Freak nodded, and looked down at the thick bunch of veins, many of which he'd just broken.  The pain wasn't great, but as blood began to spill, the li-tigon knew that he'd soon feel the results of what he was doing, one way or the other.

And so he began to paint the white stone of Rafiki's statue red.  Nothing happened, immediately, but Freak expected that—instant results hadn't been anticipated.  Tanga's expression was neutral, but not genuinely so.  The li-tigon was certain that the former assassin was starting to have his reservations, his doubts, about the process he'd just suggested.

Too bad.  Freak would continue to do what had to be done until Rafiki left his stone enclosure, or he had no blood left to give.

In moments, though, the li-tigon was starting to feel dangerously lethargic.  Already, he'd had to brush away the coagulated tissue at his wrist twice, to keep the flow of blood steady—but, despite everything, he saw that it had dwindled.  Freak had lost a significant amount of his blood already, and continuing to bleed was now starting to get dangerous.

"This needs to stop," Simba said suddenly.  "Cousin—"

"No.  Not yet," the li-tigon managed to rasp, turning to freeze the red-maned lion with a glare.  "Don't stop me.  I'm not finished yet."

With the utmost reluctance, Simba didn't get any closer to his increasingly shaky, swaying relative.

Freak was struggling to keep his eyes open, by then, but he managed to force himself to go on.  Just one more drop, just one more drop, he constantly told himself, just stay standing, just stay standing.

By and by, Freak came to wonder if he was insane—at least, to a very slight degree.  There was no questioning his fate if he stayed the course, but he wasn't going to stop.  Not while Rafiki needed him to keep going.

In the end, the li-tigon wasn't sure when, exactly, he passed out.  He didn't recall hitting the ground, so perhaps Simba had saved him.  Or perhaps he'd simply fallen into unconsciousness too quickly to realize what was happening.

Either way, he must have dreamed hearing someone—or something say, in a deep, old, wise, heavily accented voice, that it was nice to be back.

* * *

Freak was resting, breathing very, very slowly, stripes cascading down his furred side.  Having hardly slept for days, after his first taste of REMs he was out—and for hours.

No one was particularly worried, though.  It was true that the li-tigon was a quiet, considerate sleeper, but one couldn't mistake him for the dead.  He was alive and well, and if that changed for a second, he was under the close attention of the best medical expert in the Land of the Spirits.

"You're sure you're not out of practice?" Roderik asked.  "It's been some time since you've done… anything."

"In real world terms, dat is true.  For me, only one day has passed.  There's no reason to delay—come.  Let's get to work."

The old lion sighed, but nodded, smiling slightly.  The years had taken and given fortune and life and pain alike, but nothing could change his greatest friend, it seemed.

"All right, Rafiki."

The mandrill turned to his old friend.  His grizzled "mane" was as perfectly white and wild as the lion's, and, to the untrained layman, similarities between the two ended there.  Yet, despite the years they'd spent apart, it was clear that they'd grown up together.  The slow, confident cadence of their steps, the unpresumptuous, wise, analytical gazes they fixed on everything… they were too similar.  It was almost eerie.

Freak had been put in Pride Rock to recover, and had been fast asleep for almost seven hours by the time Rafiki had been caught up with everything that had happened since he was Petrified.  The mandrill had taken it all surprisingly well, though it was clear that he was greatly disturbed by his failure to not see things coming.  In hindsight, the fast approaching showdown was inevitable, and had been for several years.

A number of preparations had to be made at the last moment.  Plans were scrapped together, reviewed, then rejected or accepted.  In the end, the decision Pride Lands leadership came to was a fairly conservative one—everyone was patrolling the borders, after food had been taken.  What Rafiki and Roderik were up to was likely detectable by their enemies—a sudden, blitzkrieg invasion might penetrate sparsely defended borders.  And if Pride Rock was disturbed, it was all over.

In other words, everyone was using their bodies as shields—for Freak, Rafiki, and Roderik.  When the process was done, no one would need to be in danger, anymore… but until then, their position was risky.  There was no margin for error, and that's why Rafiki and Roderik had each spent two hours meditating after everything they needed had been gathered.

Neither a word nor an ingredient out of place could be tolerated, in the procedure that followed.  Powders had to be blessed, then mixed with one another in just the right proportions.  Their derived results were sometimes small and metallic; more often, they were simply strangely luminescent liquids or still other powders.  More rarely, they couldn't be seen at all, but everything they were doing had a purpose.

Their end product was perhaps a tablespoon of silver liquid that shimmered and danced in the darkness of the cave in a strange, almost living manner.  Its physical natures were uncertain, but were also unimportant.

Rafiki paused, for a moment, to wipe the sweat from his face.  Roderik did the same, and then, wordlessly, they prepared to give Freak enough power to defeat Kifo.  It wouldn't be easy, because the potion they'd made couldn't be ingested.  It had to be imbibed more directly.

Concentrating, hard, the two old ones lifted the shining liquid from its container.  It became bulbous, in midair, almost like gravity no longer affected it—but then, it began to break apart into droplets that soon formed hair thin, inch long needles.

The deadly-looking projectiles glinted in the air as they spread apart, each taking position perhaps two feet from Freak.  Poised to strike, they would, in a second, inject the li-tigon with power, and lots of it.  Without this extra jolt of energy, the outcome of the battle was very unsure—either that, or the odds were against them.  No one was interested in taking any risks when it came to the fate of their entire world.

Rafiki and Roderik said a few final words, then fell silent.  And then, deftly, the needles began to move with enough speed to bury themselves deep into Freak—

Something happened, then, that no one anticipated.  Freak woke up, just in time to see a thousand glinting projectiles launch themselves at him, and acted reasonably.  His eyes widened, and, without bothering to realize where he was or how he had gotten there, the li-tigon tried to save his life.

He moved, rapidly, using every muscle in his body.  In a heartbeat, he'd twisted to his feet; after that, he launched himself forward, milliseconds before the needles descended, striking into the rock formerly beneath him.  The motion was so quick and natural that it was over before Rafiki or Roderik could do anything to prevent it.

Seconds later, though, they realized what had happened: they'd failed.  Their work glowed, for a moment, before vanishing into the Earth, leaving the area where it had hit somewhat brighter and less dusty than it had been before, but that was all.

Hissing, viciously, Freak prepared to fight after getting several yards away from whatever attack he'd just dodged.  His mind hadn't quite woken up yet; he was still running on instincts alone, and of those that occurred to him, the simple desire to live dominated the question of what, exactly, was going on.

* * *

Dusk.

Everyone had been pulled back to Pride Rock, though few knew why.  The late evening sky stretched above them, a dark purple mosaic of stars and empty space.  It was an evening that would have been considered solemn, perhaps beautiful, in normal times—but that day, it was just cold and empty and apathetic.

No one had felt any sense of affection or even acknowledgment from the Spirits for the longest time.  Some had even started to wonder if they'd died—or experienced their own equivalent of death.  Nothing could better explain their apparent lack of involvement in the real world.  After all, there wasn't the slightest indication that things could be worse.

An atheist revolution hadn't swept the Pride Lands quite yet.  But no one knew about what had just happened—not yet.

The incident, itself, was simple bad luck.  Freak had been cursed with paranoia—indeed, often, it had been the only thing between him and an early death.  The dark side of too much caution and jumpiness, though, was obvious.

A natural flaw like that, though, shouldn't have had such disastrous consequences.  Not in the Pride Lands, not when they were sanctified, and certainly not when they were simply days from being invaded by the greatest threat to stability and peace since Scar.

Everything that could possibly have gone wrong, simply, had.  Was there a better explanation of the current state of things than the assertion that they were all cursed, or, more likely, just doomed?

"Maybe we are," Freak thought to himself.  "Well.  If we are, then I hope others hear about how defiant even the most damned of us can be.  We're not giving up."

Looking down at the gathered masses from Pride Rock was an act that Freak had neither imagined he'd ever do in his life, nor fantasized about.  And yet, there he was, tall, and strong and alone; a single, solitary silhouette in the darkness, looking over the huddled, tired bodies before him.

It was cold, for some reason, and that was a condition quite foreign to the Pride Lands.  Perhaps the occasional four am breeze cooled things down, but the constant lack of heat felt by every predator in the area almost seemed to be the result of some force, or some being, sucking the life out of the land.

Freak grit his teeth, briefly.  He was no orator, no great public speaker—unlike his father, his cousin, uncle, or the male ancestors before them, he couldn't motivate anyone.  He couldn't fill them with hope—but he could arm them with the truth, and a quiet, invincible will to prevail.

"All my life," Freak began, "I've fought enemies far, far more powerful than me… quicker, stronger, smarter, more numerous…  That might be the one thing that's never changed, no matter where I've gone.  It's not that I bring suffering to people—I don't think that's it," he said.  "Just… I fight.  It's all I've ever done properly, naturally…  I've faced difficult odds before, and I've always come out on top."

He paused.

"So, in a way, what I'm doing now isn't unfamiliar.  I just have… more motivation to win."  Freak didn't intend to pause, that time—but he had to smile down at all of the faces looking back up at him.  Even the most serious Nomad loyalists couldn't help but smile back in response.

"Everything is against us," Freak said.  "Or… that's how it seems.  But it doesn't matter.  I am going to win this fight."  There was nothing about that statement that was cocky—for some reason, the li-tigon felt that he was informing everyone of a self-evident truth.  After all, he'd never really lost a fight before, and there was no reason why he'd start to lose just when it really started to matter.

"Kifo is going to invade within two days.  Don't ask me how I know that—Rafiki and Roderik couldn't tell me."  Now, Freak wasn't looking at his audience anymore—he was looking forward, southward, eyes unfocused and somewhat glazed over.  Mixed in with his passion and determination was just a little bit of insanity, it seemed—insanity that shortly passed, because the next minute, the li-tigon faced his friends again.

But he wasn't just looking at his friends.  He was looking at everything—the grass, the trees, the innumerable plains and forests and rivers and beings of the Pride Lands.  As Warrior King, he had to protect everything from destruction.  He would not fail in his task—he couldn't.  The very foundations of the Land of the Spirits were built around the premise that, in the end, good would prevail.

"Kifo is my twin," Freak said.  "And I am going to kill him."

There.  He'd said it.  And, a moment later, the Pride Landers responded with a low, loud, vitally bloodthirsty roar.  They expected their King to water the land with the blood of their enemy, and, with his last sentence, Freak had announced that he would.

The li-tigon looked forward, again, an almost aghast expression on his face.  He'd promised to win, but, still, he somehow knew that he was not going to kill his own twin.

* * *

He had never run so far or for so long in his life, not by a longshot.  Although life in his homeland had prepared him for such marathons, well, he was injured—grievously so.  It was a small miracle that he was still living at all, much less moving, much less maintaining a near sprint for such an agonizingly long time.

Soreness hadn't set in, mostly because he hadn't allowed it to.  By continuing to move, continuing to keep blood rushing through his veins, he had managed to ignore or at least suppress the screams of protest now coming from every muscle in his body.

He would soon hurt in places he didn't know exist.

But he had to keep running.

He took the fact that there was no one defending the Pride Lands' northwestern border easily, without being demoralized or shouting in outrage, though he would have been justified in doing so.  His journey had already been long, and, already, he'd probably set several world records.  Ah, for a videocamera to document his trip…

Though injured, he didn't show it.  The wound was clean—the bullet had exited him, completely, and thanks to how close he was when he'd taken it, the devious shot hadn't had time to do real damage to him.  It was a serious injury, to be sure, but not a crippling or a fatal hit.

It had been quite some time since he'd eaten, but that was nothing new.  The majority of his life, after all, had been one when meals came when they were taken—not with any sort of regularity.  He still had some energy left in him, and every joule of it would be used to take him to his objective.

He judged his position and the position of his goal by the only real reference point in sight.  Fortunately, as where he was going and what he was looking at were one and the same, he didn't have to do any complicated trigonometry—after all, he was just a lion.

"Well," he thought to himself, as he got to within two miles of his goal, _"at least I won't have to search for anyone.  It seems that most of them are already there…"_  He started to move a little faster—at least, that's what it felt like.  Already, it was extremely taxing to prevent himself from stumbling and falling to a clumsy, painful, and quite possibly permanent halt.

_"I wonder what they've been up to while I've been gone.  I wonder how she's been…"_

* * *

"From now on, no one is to do any patrolling near the northeastern border, or be anywhere near that area for any reason.  I do want tighter security elsewhere, though—it's possible that—"

Freak turned, rapidly, but he couldn't see past the massive boulder behind him.  Something was coming from the northeast itself, and quickly.  Out of the li-tigon's view, as he raced down Pride Rock, intending to meet whatever threat was approaching, the rest of the Pride Landers fanned out, prepared to either retreat or support their leader.

In moments, the entire military forces of the Pride Lands were assembled, with Freak at the vanguard of their formation.  The tall grass and darkness of the northwestern region of the Pride Lands, though, obnubilated their view—entirely.  All they could do was hear whatever was approaching.

Freak was ready to fight, and, at first, his eyes were wide and intense as, slowly, adrenaline entered his bloodstream.  But then, he realized that if the vision he'd had of Kifo was remotely accurate, the demon was huge, and loud—if it was Kifo that was coming, he'd be visible, slower, and the li-tigon would have known he was coming far, far before then.

It wasn't Kifo, then.  Who it was, Freak didn't know, but he was certain it was a threat.

Imagine the li-tigon's surprise, then, when out of the tall, shadowed grasses, emerged Akane—exhausted, but alive, and well, with a smile on his face.

"Hello," the white lion said, panting, barely able to breathe in short, ragged breaths.  "It's… been some time.  Shujaa, I saw your twin… and I know how you can beat him."

* * *

Kifo breathed in, slowly, before exhaling, savoring the taste of the air in his mouth.  It was warm, and somewhat moist, but it was alive—not stale and cold, like it tended to be wherever he went.  His lips upturned, slowly, until his face was split by a wide, malicious grin.

He was in the Pride Lands.

"Ah, it's good to be home," Kishindo said.  She stretched, reaching out with her paws, clawing at the ground, before standing up again with a satisfied smirk.  Her tawny, somewhat coarse fur allowed her to blend into her surroundings rather well—Kifo could imagine her, several years younger, organizing her insurgency to the southwest of their position.

For the first time in several weeks, the demon looked down at himself.  He didn't believe that he'd grown, at least, not significantly.  The armored sections of hide and weapons that crisscrossed the majority of his thick, muscular form didn't seem any smaller than they normally were—or perhaps Kifo had just gotten used to a constant rate of growth, and, even then, was on his way to being closer to nine feet in height than eight.

His armaments had improved.  He no longer used little rifles—the weapon slung over his back was an M240 machinegun, a viciously rapid-fire gun that was loaded with rounds powerful enough to tear most soft targets apart, with one shot.  He didn't bother with pistols anymore, either—a sawed, double-barreled 12 gauge was more to his taste.  Of course, his blade remained, in a fashion—it was a large, broad, hacking tool, designed for doing as much damage as possible with one hit.  There was no finesse about it.

Just to see what laws applied in the Pride Lands, Kifo shouldered his machinegun, aiming vaguely into the air.  He pulled the trigger, then, so a long burst of automatic gunfire echoed across the landscape.  After a moment, when the reverberating sound-waves died down, the demon nodded, and lowered his weapon.

"I think I'm gonna have fun here," he said, coolly.  "I'm guessing these Pride Lander-types won't be as easy to take down as those pushovers at the White Sands… no problem.  I'm up for a challenge, and I need practice."

"Mmmmyes…" Kishindo agreed.  "But Kifo, I have a small request to make."

The demon glanced down at her, arching a brow.  Then, he nodded, curtly, willing to at least her the lioness out.

"Leave Simba for me.  I'm strong enough to defeat him, alone, and you don't know how much I want to.  I've dreamed of killing him for years… now that I think of it, leave me my dear little son, as well.  I'll take care of him once I'm finished with Simba."

"That's asking a little much," the demon said.  "Not of me, though.  You really think you're up to fighting both of them, one after the other?  I mean, damn—you're not in your prime anymore… no offense."

A vein in the lioness's neck twitched, once, but she nodded, scouring the area before them with narrowed eyes.

"Don't worry about me, boy.  And don't get cocky yourself—there's something going on here… I'm not quite sure what it is.  But you're going to have to be extra careful.  Understand?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah…" the demon waved his massive hand, dismissively.  He started to move, covering over a yard with a each step he took, towering over the knee-high grass all around him.  As he moved, the tall, tan stalks withered, graying, and, slowly, died.

He was walking toward the Sun, but the bright light didn't stop him—nothing could, he believed.  His roughly feline features were set, determined, because this was likely to be the toughest fight of Kifo's life.  Kishindo knew that the Pride Landers were a viciously dangerous bunch, and, for some reason, had the Spirits on their side—she'd warned and prepared Kifo as best she could.

Of course, neither of them knew about Freak.

And neither of them knew that, even then, the li-tigon was observing their approaching.  He was a mile away, on top of a hill, alone.  Everyone else had been ordered away to protect the border—this was a threat that Freak had to meet alone.

As he stood, watching, the li-tigon noticed—Kifo wore an expression identical to his.  Trying not to dwell on that for too long, he took careful note of the terrain around him.  This would be a titanic battle, and Freak suspected that it would ravage across the vast expanse of the Pride Land's northeastern territory—for hours.

Grasslands, plains, and limited desert conditions existed directly between himself and his twin.  To the north, there were rugged, rocky steppes—Freak could fight there well, but his greatest advantages would exist to the east, where forests and jungles dominated.

Yet, no matter the terrain, no matter what knowledge he'd received from Akane, Freak knew that this fight would be neither quick nor easy.  His eyes unblinkingly stared at his enemy, trying to read Kifo's motion for anything useful—reluctance, pain, anything but ironclad, malicious will.  Of course, there was none.

Freak didn't recognize the lioness at his twin's side.  He didn't think she was very important, either—there existed no big cats that could stand up to him in combat, not for a second.  He felt no curiosity about her, not now, because his only goal was directly in front of him: his twin.

The li-tigon began to move.  To any outward appearance, his steps appeared confident—slow, to be sure, but confident.  No one, not even his own mother, could have told that nothing could be farther from the truth: Freak was scared out of his mind, and he didn't know how he planned to fight Kifo.

Preparation time was up, though; now was the time for action.  Freak had a long way to walk—so, slowly, he began to let go of his fear.  It was not easy, but the li-tigon was successful—mostly.

Well.  That's what Akane told him to do, but he felt no different.  He looked down—yes, those were his paws, the same as they always were, plodding, softly, across the grassy, somewhat sandy terrain.  It occurred to Freak that, for him, this might very well be the end of the road—this might be his last chance to look down at those paws, those powerful miracles that had come into being despite the best efforts of the world at large.

Somewhat coldly, Freak looked up.  Kifo was less than half a mile away, but he hadn't been detected yet—good.  Maybe, Freak could do it quickly—maybe he could sneak up on the demon, pounce on him from behind, and rip his neck out before he could defend himself.

Or, maybe not.

As he continued to get closer, Freak felt his fear return.  He didn't sweat, but there was a definite uptick in his heart rate, and his eyes, to be sure, were no longer cool, gray, confident—they were wide and scared.  He had to defeat Kifo, there was no question about that, but how was he supposed to fight a being that he was terrified of even facing—one that he was certain, now more than ever, that he couldn't kill?

By then, the li-tigon was within a quarter mile of his enemy.  He continued to stare at the demon, bearing down on him—only the slightest falter in his steps indicated the precise moment when, for the first time, Kifo saw his twin.

* * *

(Next chapter will come sooner. We're getting close to the end, believe it or not.)


	27. BaW III: Fearless

The Lion King: The Freak

Chapter 27: Battles and Wars III: Fearless

* * *

(The game is never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down…

And please be aware that there will be some bad language, here and there. After all, this is a Kifo-Freak chapter.)

* * *

This was it—the moment that Freak had knowingly spent the last several months of his life preparing for, and the moment that he had unknowingly spent the entirety of his life preparing for.

He was meeting Kifo: his twin and his enemy. When everything was finished, at least one of them would be dead. There was no peaceful third way, no de-escalation. Aggression had been initiated the moment Kifo came into existence...

Freak tried not to dwell on that as he continued to walk forward, getting to within twenty yards of his enemy, his twin. He kept his face neutral, or at least tried to—this was not the time to show fear, or any other emotion, for that matter. Finally, so close to Kifo that he almost choked from the rank, smoking scent emanating from the demon's hide, he stopped.

He looked at the demon, and the demon looked back at him. It was hard to tell who felt what—both were impressed, though, and wary of the other. This was understandable: on the one hand, Freak was staring at a being that, while vaguely human, bore no semblance to Raj's tanned, friendly face. Kifo was over eight feet tall and built like a tank—endless pounds of muscles coated a frame crafted from iron; his body rippled with enough power to flatten forests or even mountains. Freak recognized some of his arms, and knew, immediately, that this fight was not one he could win at long range. He'd have to get in close to prevail.

For Kifo's part, he wasn't sure, at first, what to make of the massive cat approaching him. Freak was far, far larger than Kishindo—or, for that matter, Kovu or the broad-shouldered Roderik. He'd gone the path of the Dark One, who, as a liger, was genetically predisposed to being a walking giant.

The li-tigon's size, though, wasn't the only thing that kept Kifo's hand off his sidearm. Freak seemed to almost vanish into the landscape, as he approached; the stripes that had been handed down to him from his mother and before her his grandfather and before him his great-grandmother did their job, but something else was at play. Something else, that made Freak look like a ghost—even as he stood, focused, intently, on the approaching feline, Kifo couldn't see him well.

He could see Freak's eyes, though. And those set, gunmetal orbs were nothing if not intent as they fearlessly stared back at him.

Kishindo, for her part, had frozen in her tracks as well; Kifo surmised this, but didn't dare confirm it. Taking his eyes off the deadly fighter in front of him, even for a second, could mean suicide.

"You're expecting me," the demon said, slowly—it was the only explanation that was remotely plausible, and that wasn't saying much. Never before in his "life" had Kifo met anyone that didn't flee from in terror, except for Kishindo. But he knew, somehow, that he wasn't looking at another… not an ally or friend, but a tool. Kifo didn't have allies or friends.

He watched as the strange cat before him nodded, slowly. His movements were precise, carefully measured, but somehow not robotic—there was something incredibly, vitally _alive_ about the striped feline, something that Kifo had searched for his entire life but had never found even in his death.

"I am," the stranger replied, calmly, just as slowly—there was no need for anyone to get excited. Not yet, at least. "Your name is Kifo. Death." It wasn't a question, but it wasn't quite a statement either. After weighing his response, for a moment, the demon replied.

"Yeah, that's me. How do you know my name?" His fingers twitched, but the stranger didn't react. That was disconcerting—if such a blatant threat couldn't throw him off balance, Kifo didn't know what would. Strangely, though, for just a second, the cat had… sort of phased into focus. Kifo's mind raced; he tried to understand what was going on, but he couldn't, and he would never be able to. He was just a killing machine, after all.

Come to think of it, he wasn't even "Kifo"—"Kifo" was not his name. It was an alias, forcibly placed on him by a being that had abandoned him when he grew too powerful to be tightly controlled. He didn't know his name. He had no name. But it wasn't important—all that was important was his mission—that was the purpose of his posthumous existence, and that was all.

The cat didn't answer, and, after a moment, the demon gave up on expecting him to. Instead, he twitched to the side, slightly—finally, a reaction. It wasn't the one he was hoping for, but it was the one that he expected—no, more than expected—and dreaded.

The striped male shook his head, slowly, and moved, once again placing himself in between the demon and his destination. Kifo considered sidestepping again, but decided against it. He had to hear what this stranger was going to say.

"You're not going to pass me," the cat said. "And… I know that you're not going to leave, either."

Slowly, the demon nodded. It was most strange, the vague sense of understanding, of fulfillment that entered his being—he was doing what he was supposed to be, somehow. Kifo had never felt it before, not once—but it felt… not good. But it felt… not right. Whatever it made the demon feel, he felt something that wasn't as black and charred as the skeleton that had fallen into the Forbidden Island all those months ago.

"You look familiar," the demon said. He smiled, for some strange reason; the corners of his scarred, parched lips upturning the slightest amount—he really was amused. "I ain't sure why. I know I've never, ever seen you before… there's no way. If I did, I'd never forget it. There's something about you…" to emphasize his point, he reached out, with his left hand, pointing at the being before him. "You're… whatever you are… you're _rare_. One, maybe two of a kind…"

He didn't flinch. But again, he _almost_ came into full view, though he didn't say a word in response—not this time. So, slowly, the demon turned his head to the side and spoke, not taking his eyes off of the other monster in the Pride Lands.

"Kishindo," he said, firmly, "it's time for you to go. Take out your little boy, and Simba, if you can. When it's all over… we'll see each other again."

"Kifo—"

"_Go._"

There was no arguing with the demon when his voice took that tone, so Kishindo had no choice, really, but to nod, slowly, looking at Kifo for a long, long moment. He really was impressive, she thought, and she was glad to have played a role in forging him into land's second most devastating fighter—no, not second. Never second. Kifo was the best, and he was going to win. This stranger, this male, this feline of indeterminate heritage… he was nothing.

Well, of course he was huge, and broad-shouldered, and rippling with muscle and intelligence and speed and agility. But there were two areas in which the demon, surely, had him beat: sheer power, and malicious _will_—will that could be translated into action with shocking results.

Kishindo smiled, slightly; her face was neither brooding nor cracked in half by a vicious, toothy grin—she was quietly confident, sure of the results of the impending brawl.

"I'll see you later, my dear Kifo," the lioness said, loudly—but neither fighter so much as glanced at her. Ah, well—it was worth a try. Kishindo shrugged, and started to move, slowly considering her next move. She had neither the time to gather actionable intelligence nor plan out an effective attack—but that was okay. Kifo had shown her that, on occasion, there was sense in just letting everything go and going _insane_ on the opposition.

That wouldn't be hard… Cruel, hated, Simba. Bastard, treasonous Kovu… No, Kishindo would have no difficulty in becoming a wild beast with the sole, singular purpose of ripping both of them—and anyone that came to their aid—limb from limb.

The lioness's form diminished, slowly, in Kifo's view, as she continued in the general direction of Pride Rock. He watched her with his peripheral vision—almost all of his visual attention was directed at his enemy. Now, Kishindo was irrelevant—all that mattered was the here and now.

* * *

Duels in the Wild West were tense—before they started. Glaring at one another, men in bandanas and dusters and hats would stand, twenty paces apart, fingers twitching, constantly, ever closer to the pistols on their hips. And then, all at once, someone would snap—and, one way or the other, the fight would be over.

Well. Kifo and Freak had been staring at one another for over five minutes, but neither of them had budged. They were both busy sizing one another up—Freak, of course, knew what he was doing well enough to have plotted out several plans of attack and defense. He'd had several overall strategies in mind for some time, now, but still wasn't sure which one to implement—they revolved around his mind, cyclically, none offering any net advantage over the other.

Kifo, however, was less cultured, and far more reliant on Kishindo than he might have liked to admit. His pre-game routine, so to speak, involved not much more than projection—he imagined himself demolishing his enemy in ways too numerous and violent to list.

Or, rather, he tried to. Because for some reason, the demon really couldn't see himself crushing the strange feline before him—certainly not the way he'd defeated the rest of his enemies. If he was going to beat this one, it wouldn't be a resounding victory—he'd pull through by the skin of his teeth.

"Yo," the demon said, rather suddenly—but his enemy didn't jump. He simply tilted his head, several degrees, an amount so insignificant that it could be safely disgregarded. "Got a question…"

The cat blinked, once, but shrugged. "Go ahead."

"I was wondering… who are you? How—you knew I was coming, and you know who I am. How? Have you been tracking me?"

The feline's expression hardened, and he didn't answer. Kifo watched him, closely, and could swear that he saw an iota of uncertainty in his eyes—but that didn't last.

Freak was hundreds of yards from where he intended to fight—he'd finally settled on a plan. Until he could get to the forests or the rocks, there would be no cover—he'd be an easy target, unless...

_"Akane, I hope you're right."_

The li-tigon looked up at his enemy. Stared deep into his eyes. He spoke quietly so that, unconsciously, Kifo leaned forward, just a little, to properly hear what was being said.

"I…" Freak's voice faded. He swallowed, and tried to speak again. This time, he did so with a confident, intent, and yet a dreadful edge in his voice.

"My name… is… Freak."

Kifo stared at the cat for perhaps ten more seconds. And then, he found that he was staring at nothing more than empty space. Freak had vanished.

* * *

Kishindo had hunted lions like herself for much of her life. One might have been able to say that she'd grown adept at it—if any of her hunts had ever been successful. However, one might also recall that she'd never so much as set a paw on Simba, nor any other of the Pride Landers in her life.

Things had changed, though, since she'd last been in the area. She'd gotten a lot stronger, a lot smarter, and even more merciless than she had been before. This time, she would not fail.

The lioness closed in on Pride Rock, taking the final five miles to the behemoth structure at a crawl—sentries were doubtlessly posted everywhere. And being spotted would mean fighting an entire pride of lions—more than that, in fact, though she didn't know it. One on two odds, for her, were fair—one on two dozen… not so much.

Her tan fur blended in perfectly with the endless plains covered by long, wavy grass; the terrain that defined the northeastern Pride Lands. The pride she and Scar could have created in a land like this, with its endless natural resources, its natural defenses, its perfect climate—in two generations, they could have forged the master race that the White Sand pride had been attempting to make since before anyone could remember.

Anger at the way the current rulers of the land wasted it so frivolously had been a near constant for most of Kishindo's life. But sometimes it spiked, ballooning to proportions too large to easily be contained.

After a moment of struggle, the lioness controlled herself. A nasty snarl crawled across her lips, but that was all. The rest of her anger was used for focus—she needed to concentrate.

Kishindo wasn't accosted as she got closer and closer to Pride Rock—good. Surprisingly, though, she increasingly got the feeling that there were no sentries in the area at all. In fact, there wasn't a single being in the vicinity of Pride Rock itself.

Well, now. _That_ was odd, even for the depraved beings that lived there. Still, Kishindo didn't waste brain cells attempting to unravel the motives of the Pride Landers—her mission was simple and needed to be executed quickly. There wasn't time to psychoanalyze anyone.

Prowling low to the ground, the lioness's angular nose twitched once, then twice. She began to smirk malevolently, will and determination building up in her eyes—she'd scented Kovu. Simba… she could smell him too, but not well enough to track him. That's not what worried her, though.

What was worrying was the presence of a great number of other distinct scents. Kishindo couldn't be certain, but it was difficult to deny that there were _dozens_ of other, unfamiliar lions in the Pride Lands, and that was bad. More muscle and meat to fight through or sneak past would take time, and that was the one asset she was desperately short of.

She could manage, though. She always had.

* * *

Understandably, Kifo stared into apparent thin air. Not for long, though—he shouldered his machinegun, a deadly, 7.62x51mm bullet hose—and went to a modified low-ready position. He stepped forward with one foot, looking, intently, all around the several cubic feet of air that Freak had just occupied. His finger was on the trigger and he was ready to shoot the moment the li-tigon reappeared, but what he didn't expect was to take blows from a still-invisible attacker.

They came hard and fast and unexpected; Kifo was taken off guard. In a second, he'd been knocked back several yards, almost thrown off his feet.

He was being attacked from the left side, but even as the demon tried to fight back, striking back with a vicious, clawed hand, he saw nothing. And, after the briefest heartbeat, in which his attacker ostensibly avoided his attempted counter, he felt jaws clamp shut around his wrist, and, gruesomely, _twist_.

The fight almost hit its climax there. If Kifo was any weaker, he might have endured a broken forearm, dislocated wrist, or worse. As it happened, though, the demon was powerful enough to clench the basketball-sized muscles in his arm, making the entire limb as immovable as steel.

The only indication that the demon was in any pain was the horrible, twisted snarl he wore, then, as his eyes glowed, malevolently, _scouring_ the space just next to him for anything—any refraction, any movement, any shadow. Surely, his attacker wasn't entirely invisible. That was impossible.

Kifo's thick fur was excellent protection against a great many attacks—from knives, from blunt attacks, from acid, and maybe even from bullets, too, a possibility he intended to take full advantage of when he got back to Times Square. It was not impenetrable, though, and rows of razor sharp teeth backed up by over a half ton of force somewhat outstripped his skin's protective abilities—by a longshot. If the demon allowed things to continue for long, the soft tissue that connected his arm to his hand might be destroyed, effectively taking away one of his most powerful weapons.

Fortunately, Kifo was in little danger of losing his footing. If this fight had occurred in the White Sands, he'd have been on the ground moments ago—now, though, he could dig his talons into the moist, fertile soil, preventing himself from being taken down and mauled.

Horribly, Kifo felt his wrist being pulled, and hard. His attacker was attempting to _rip_ his hand off with sheer, brute strength. The demon could play that game and win with anything, anyone.

Except for this one.

Gritting his teeth, he lifted his weapon, intending to fire. He paused, though, and then forcefully moved his finger off the trigger—he sensed that if he opened up, the ferocious cat clenching to his paw would twist out of the way and cause him to shoot himself. That would be devastating. Kifo had to be creative.

Well. He'd evolved a thousand times before, in this post-life existence of his. He could adapt again.

The demon suddenly shifted his weight in line with the pull—in doing so, he dropped to a knee, stabilizing himself, while circling his arm into a sort of outer block. The sudden, rotational motion was unexpected by his attacker, and there was no way the feline could maintain his grip, not without turning over onto his back or side and giving up the ability to move while exposing a large, unprotected target to the demon.

Naturally, Kifo's attacker released, albeit a second too late. The demon actually saw a flicker of motion, then, as time slowed down, allowing him to continue to track it as he brought his machinegun up. A millisecond later, he started to fire; flowery explosions emanating from the pronged muzzle of his weapon. The thunderous concussions of the blasts flattened the grass for several feet in all directions—there was no way that anything could avoid a barrage like this. None.

* * *

Fighting Kifo was like fighting a great white shark—the demon was many times more powerful than Freak ever would be. The li-tigon was expecting it, but he couldn't help but be surprised. This was a being that could and would easily toss him all over the Pride Lands, if allowed—Freak knew that he couldn't rely on sheer power. He had to be craft, quick, cunning, sly—he had to use every weapon his life had equipped him with, and far, far more.

When the demon threw him aside simply by moving his arm, Freak was not only shocked, but angry—at himself. The sudden torque wrenched him off his feet with such intensity that he nearly snapped his neck.

Somehow, though, the li-tigon managed to roll with the motion, in a fashion, allowing his teeth to slide out from his foe's flesh. He did a sort of sideways roll in the air—or, rather, several of them—but managed to keep his eyes on his enemy despite the impromptu kung fu film move.

Freak landed, several yards away, skidding to a halt. He dug his claws into the ground to slow himself down more rapidly, dropping into a low fighting stance—that was wise. A vicious scythe of gunfire cut through the air, above him. The li-tigon flattened, in response, and dived to the side, rolling again. As he did, he actually saw the hot lead slugs spinning above him, trailing paths of disturbed air—then, of course, he heard them.

Akane had been correct; it seemed that Freak really was invisible to his enemy. This advantage was rather reduced, though, when the li-tigon kicked up dust. Keeping this in mind, he trotted to a stop instead going for an immediate halt—this left his enemy confused and looking for another opening, while Freak circled around to take him from the flank, or the rear.

Kifo was looking in the opposite direction, head swiveling from left to right, giving the li-tigon a few precious heartbeats to think before the demon turned or began to fire indiscriminately, simply using the force of numbers to score a hit—Freak kept his footfalls light, before sprinting forward when he got to within ten feet of the demon.

His muscles tightened, briefly, before the concentrated energy stored within them was released, propelling the li-tigon forward, and high. Having inserted himself into such a welcoming position, Freak had no intention of using finesse anymore—he was going for a devastating shot to his twin's head, intending to pummel him into a concussion, or at least a brief black-out.

Kifo surprised him, then. Instead of continuing to stupidly look around, he acted suddenly, without warning, and deftly. It was probable that the demon really didn't know where Freak might come from, next, because there were many maneuvers that would have been more advantageous for him—but what he did wasn't bad, either.

He rolled forward, or started to, ducking just quick enough for Freak's massive paw to blue over the back of his head, hardly grazing any of the dark, coarse fur at the nape of his neck. The li-tigon's eyes widened, but he recovered, quickly, reaching in with the claws of his left paw extended.

Any natural creature would have been skinned, at least—more like fatally wounded—by the li-tigon's next move. He grabbed at the flesh of Kifo's gut, and pulled, bracing himself by twisting and placing his forearm against the demon's shoulder. All this happened in less than a second, but Kifo wasn't torn wide open. In fact, he wasn't even hurt.

* * *

Demonic rhino hide really was a marvel, it seemed, because the demon's flesh was untouched. It was true that the vicious feline was all over him, just then, controlling the motion of the fight, but that was about to change. Kifo, too, could react in the space of milliseconds—he, too, could combine brutality and ability in order to win fights.

Instead of shaking the strong cat off, however, something that could have been rather easily accomplished, the demon reached up with his left hand the moment he felt contact on his shoulder. Somehow, the rock-hard muscle of his bicep complied, allowing him to find the cat's wrist in the air and _crush_.

Well. This was certainly interesting. The demon had looked up, moving his machinegun behind his head. Firing from such a position would be odd, but it didn't matter. All he needed to do was to strike his target with _one_ bullet to leave behind a lasting impression.

His job was made rather easier by the fact that when he clamped down on the furred, clawed appendage against his clavicle, the form of his attacker rippled through the air for the briefest moment.

That was all Kifo needed.

He pulled the trigger, just long enough to fire a burst—in that time, the cat managed to flip his body over, clawing through Kifo's vice-like grip before his bones could be shattered. The demon heard impact, several yards away, and prepared to let loose again—

His enemy came into view, and this time, not just for a heartbeat. Was this an illusion, or something—a trap? Kifo didn't know, so, he didn't open fire.

If it was a trick, it was a very convincing one. Kifo had spent more time memorizing and analyzing every aspect of his foe just moments—just _seconds_ ago, so he knew precisely what telltale traits to look for. But everything he saw led to the conclusion that this was, in fact, no illusion.

His enemy stood on his four legs, looking at Kifo defiantly. The lack of wind, the absolute lack of sound in the northeastern Pride Lands meat that the demon could hear the cat's labored, heavy breathing—it wasn't the exertion that had winded him. It was getting shot in the chest.

The demon had done his job well, it seemed. Two gaping, thumb-sized holes within five or six inches of one another lay at the cat's lower abdomen—just where his ribs ended. Kifo didn't know much about anatomy, despite having performed several vivisections in his day, but he guessed that he'd landed a very palatable hit.

Indeed, his heavy, spitzer bullets had torn apart a chunk of Freak's diaphragm—that's why he was finding it so hard to breathe. Internal bleeding was heavy… already, spittle mixed with blood was starting to spray from his lips.

The li-tigon bared his teeth, threateningly, as he saw the cocky smirk of assumed victory spread across his twin's face. His entire face tightened, for a moment, before he roared.

Loudly.

So loudly that when he was finished, the demon had taken several steps back and raised his machinegun from his hip, prepared to let loose with another salvo of bullets. Two, it seemed, wasn't enough to make a clean job of things. Not by a long… shot.

The expression on Freak's face could only be described as ugly. To be sure, both sides of his tawny, striped chest had fur matted red to his bones—with his blood. But before Kifo's eyes, the vicious exit wounds both of his shots had made began to seal up, slowly, healing.

Again, the demon stared at his enemy. He felt… something. Something unfamiliar to him, something that he wasn't supposed to feel. Yet, it was a feeling as natural to him in life as apathy.

Was it fear?

If it was, Kifo was justified in it. This foe was one that was fast, strong, agile, _invisible_ at times, and had a healing factor that rivaled his. If he was going to beat the supernatural cat in front of him, though, he was going to have to let that fear go—or, better yet, replace it with a more useful emotion.

The demon didn't roar, but his hiss was low, unsettling, like a death rattle. As the harsh sound penetrated his opposition's ears, Kifo saw the fur on the back of his neck stand up, the muscles in his forelegs squirm, uncomfortably. Whatever the feline was doing to make himself invisible, whatever he had done to put himself in the nearly inconceivable shape that he was—none of it matter, because Kifo would kill him.

Freak deserved credit, though. Although he didn't complete suppress the natural reaction of being stared down by a being created out of hate and malice not ten feet from him, he did not back down. He just stared back, powerful shoulders bunched up to make himself look even bigger than he already did.

"Before you ask," the li-tigon said suddenly, "yes, you did shoot me. Your bullets don't hurt, Kifo. Not for long."

The demon simply shrugged. He wasn't going to get into a battle of wits (mostly because he'd soundly lose)—let the cat talk as much as he wanted, Kifo would simply watch, and wait, and listen and analyze his words to discover any potential weak points. It was as if simply being around this guy was making him less prone to losing himself to blind rage—he was calmer, cooler, smarter, more analytical. More human…

Taking a brief risk, Kifo glanced down at the hand that his enemy had so desperately tried to rip off. To deter an attack, he thrust his machinegun forward, aggressively—unknowingly, then, both fighters began to circle.

Viewed from above, it seemed that they were both determined to maintain the same tangential velocity with respect to the axis of their aggressions. Kifo was bigger, to be sure, but he wasn't clumsy by any standards. Not anymore, thanks to Kishindo, bless her little heart. He smiled, slightly, murderously, and knelt.

This made him decidedly less quick and agile, but, in exchange, he was able to bring his thick left forearm in front of his chest, protecting his neck with his paw. This was something of a conservative knife fighter's stance—it was defensive, and for a good reason. Kifo wasn't going to win a battle of agility, not by a long shot—there was almost nothing he could do to stop his enemy from pouncing on him. So, instead, the demon resolved to take a tackle and fight back.

For this reason, he held his weapon at about elbow level, so that the barrel wouldn't as easily be shoved out of the way. He could fire fairly accurately, he presumed, and that was good. The current theater of operations had lots of free space, lots of it indeed.

_"Son of a bitch,"_ the demon thought, surprise betrayed by a slight, almost imperceptible widening of his eyes—as he continued to stare, though, he swore that he saw his enemy's gunmetal gray orbs twitch, slightly, as if he knew what the demon had just realized.

It was of little consequence, though. It seemed that the cat's invisibility had run out, or failed, or something, and that was good for Kifo. Slowly, he began to back up—he had a ranged weapon, his enemy did not. Distance was his friend.

They were twenty yards apart, a moment later, a quantity that slowly but surely began to increase. The demon was a deadly shot at up to two hundred yards with his weapon—he intended to get to fifty, though, before lighting his enemy up. There was no way the cat could continuously dodge a barrage of bullets for very long.

The demon was prepared for any sort of counterattack—he knew that the second his enemy realized what was going on, he'd strike back, probably zigzagging toward him too rapidly to be tracked. Kifo imagined himself sweeping the muzzle of machinegun around, finger not letting off of the trigger until the hits really began to rack up, pummeling the other one's muscular, toughened body into submission and then into death.

"Do you really think I'd fall for something this simple?" the demon's enemy said, not even bothering to move, anymore. "I know what you're trying to do, and it's not going to work."

Kifo ignored his words. If his tactic wasn't going to work, fine. He'd think of something else.

Panting, softly, the demon dropped to a knee, fully. He supported his machinegun with his left hand, aiming, carefully, at the calm, static profile of his foe—this wasn't a long range shot, not even close, but Kifo knew how fast the cat could move. One bullet would be dodged, but a flurry, hopefully, was another matter.

His finger tightened around the trigger, almost but not quite overcoming the resistance of that small blade of metal—there was something going on here that he did not understand. How did his enemy become invisible?

Almost accidentally, Kifo squeezed off a dozen rounds. The roar of their slightly parabolic paths through the air diminished, quickly; there was nothing for miles for the sound waves to bounce off of—and there was no sign whatsoever that they'd met their target.

The demon hissed, for a second, then fired again. And again. And again, in increasingly longer, less controlled bursts. There was hardly a degree of space that he didn't fill with lead in the seconds that followed; there was no way that his enemy could avoid a barrage like that if it took any effort whatsoever for him to maintain his invisibility.

That was unsettling. Even more unsettling was the fact that when Kifo lowered his smoking, red-barreled weapon, teeth bared—his enemy promptly reappeared. Almost exactly where he'd disappeared, in fact.

There was no denying, though, that the cat had moved. Avoiding taking a hit from that full-auto fusillade had left him breathing hard, just a little—he'd had to move a _lot_ faster than he usually did, after all. But he'd dodged so many bullets, at such a relatively close range…

Well. That wasn't going to stop Kifo. Because even though he hadn't hit his enemy, he had seen the slightest wisps of existence sliding through the air—tracking the deadly path of his gunfire on them had nearly resulted in hits, several times, but it was only range that protected the cat.

The demon began to walk forward, then, gradually stepping up the volume of outgoing fire. He didn't bother using his sight—tunnel vision was the last thing he needed, and this foe was an agile one. One second he was in one position; the next, he was twenty yards right of it; the next, he was back where he'd started. Kifo couldn't rely on finesse—he just had to spray as many bullets as he possibly could in order to bring his target down to a cold, bloody halt.

When he started to move forward, again, the cat backed up—it wasn't that he was scared. He had a plan…

Then, Kifo realized that they'd circled just enough that now, he was facing the east—the far eastern borders of the Pride Lands, where grassland and savannah quickly morphed into wet forests not that dissimilar from the Jungle that Freak had once called home. That, apparently, was what Freak had turned on a dime to sprint toward.

This was a trap, of some sort, and Kifo knew it. He knew that he'd be rather disadvantaged in a closed, tight environment like that—he needed space to fight real opposition like Freak.

But, as the demon began to run, chasing the silhouette that his twin purposefully let exist in the air, he also knew something else: he would not be able to turn his back on this strange, deadly cat. He had to fight him and defeat him in order to go on. He could not back down.

* * *

He was following. That was good—now, Freak could bring him into the jungle, wear him down to exhaustion, and, finally, when the demon didn't have a working limb left, or a weapon, or even the ability to stand on his two feet, Freak would—

_"Damn it,"_ the li-tigon thought, _"I'm actually fighting this guy. Forget that he's my twin—why can't I even _think_ about killing him?"_

This question, though, would have to be answered some other time. Perhaps some time after Kifo's body was at his feet, motionless; the threat he posed to a stable, safe Land eliminated. Now, though, Freak had to concentrate.

He'd rarely been to the Pride Lands' far northeast—there just was no reason to be there, when there were more vulnerable and well-traveled borders to protect, and the best hunting grounds were far, far away. He was in his element, though, regardless of this fact and the fact that this forest was a dark one.

Even the tallest trees of the li-tigon's Jungle home couldn't come close to the giants that existed here. They towered up to well over two hundred feet tall; the entirety of their trunks were bristling with branches until perhaps fifty feet off the ground. By that time, there was almost no light—only a few dappled patches of ground showed that where the Sun's rays managed to penetrate.

Freak was going to fight in the shade. He wondered, briefly, what color his eyes reflected in low-light situations—normally, they were gray, but did they still shine green?... he'd have to ask someone. Soon. After he was finished with Kifo…

The demon had slowed down, merely walking toward the forest with the grim determination of a zombie. Freak was several hundred yards ahead, protected from being shot by several thousand cubic feet of tough, unyielding wood—so, he started to make plans as quickly as he possibly could, knowing that Kifo was probably doing the exact same thing.

Vines occasionally hung as how as forty feet into the air—of course, Freak couldn't jump that high. Perhaps, though, he could climb or sprint a little over twenty feet up a tree, then use a vine to get to a branch—that could work. From the thick matrices of branches and other vines, he could mount a surprise attack that Kifo could not defend himself from.

The li-tigon had taken into account the demon's lack of real speed and his slightly sub-par hand-to-hand skills. What he hadn't taken into account was Kifo's sheer power.

* * *

The demon was a hundred yards from the forest when he stopped. He knew what Freak was going to do—bring him into a place from which he couldn't fight well, couldn't escape. And yet, if he wanted to engage the li-tigon, he did have to find him.

The options were simple: enter and die, or change the rules of the fight.

Kifo selected the second option.

He'd changed his machinegun, then, for a weapon that would be almost useless against Freak in direct engagement, especially in an open environment. It was also a weapon that was built to engage light vehicles at over five hundred yards: it was an automatic, water-cooled grenade launcher.

The demon braced it against his hip before he prepared to fire; despite his great size and mass, such a powerful weapon might have knocked him off the feet if he'd attempted to shoulder-fire it. He wasn't aware of how much time it would take to bring down a single tree, much less the entire forest—but it didn't matter. What Kifo could see was that within fifty yards of the forest, he would be surrounded by potentially hostile positions on all sides.

His first grenade was fired—the somewhat comical, domed shell was spat out of the thick, pronged muzzle of the launcher, briefly clutched at by a plume of flame and smoke. After spinning twice—a built-in safety mechanism—the grenade was live, ready to explode.

It struck its target several seconds after it was fired. The explosive deformed, slightly, chipping off bark and dirt and moss as it entered the tough, fleshy wood—before exploding, leaving behind a gaping, wide crater. The tree was structurally damaged with one hit, and Kifo hadn't yet released the trigger.

The demon's weight was oriented forward, allowing him to place his shots far more accurately than he might otherwise have been able to. Soon, he realized that three grenades per tree was alright—in this manner, he began to methodically shear the forest down.

Despite his distance from his collective target, or perhaps due to it, the demon was able to watch every detail of the destruction he was causing with stunning clarity. The refraction of every shattered, falling leaf; the lazy circles slowly disintegrating wood made as it trailed through the air—these were small pleasures. What really got his heart pumping were the more blatant results of his actions—when huge limbs, several dozen times his age, fell, crashing, to the ground; when flocks of thousands of birds chirped in terror and too flight, only to be downed by the truckload when he fired into the air.

The demon continued his work, gleefully, watching as entire chunks of the forest simply ceased to exist. People tended to react badly when their property was demolished; hopefully, his enemy was no different. Kifo knew that Freak was defending the Pride Lands from him, or at the very least, Pride Rock. He suspected that what he was doing wouldn't tolerated for long—Freak would be drawn back out into the open.

The tables would be turned.

* * *

Freak had stared down interior crocodile alligators down before he was a year old. He'd fought sharks, literally, and won—members of his own superspecies were pushovers; he couldn't conceive of any feline that could stand up to him for a second. He'd fought humans, too—although he couldn't claim to be able to take them down with the frightening ease that he normally employed, he could hold his own.

Fighting an enemy that, it seemed, was indiscriminately launching grenades into a forest to scare him out would require a change in strategy on a fundamental level. Now, Freak saw that he'd made a grave mistake, one of the worst nature: Kifo was far, far stronger than he could have imagined.

The li-tigon sidestepped, at first, then sprinted. He didn't simply retreat, because he knew that Kifo wouldn't hesitate to level the entire forest—sooner or later, Freak was going to run out of places to hide. He had to go to the demon eventually, so he might as well do it on his own terms.

Just before he emerged from the forest, a grenade exploded only a few yards from his position. Along with perhaps ten cubic feet of dirt, Freak was thrown into the air. His eyes widened, but he managed to clamp down on his emotions—and try to right himself, so that at least he would hit the ground on his feet. It didn't work—the li-tigon hit two branches, breaking through them with only the slightest drops in speed. Thick contusions were already spreading under his fur as he finally reached the peak of his flight, and began to fall.

Freak saw only vague blurs all around him as he hit the ground, bouncing several times—tan and green to his right; everywhere else, subdued brown. He wasn't aware of exactly when he came to rest, but the moment he had control of himself again he stood, blinking, rapidly, shaking his head to try to get the oppressive buzzing out of his ears. The li-tigon tasted blood, and took cover, for a moment, as Kifo continued to fire—thankfully in another direction. If he had been any closer to the explosion, he would have broken several bones, or perhaps much, much worse.

There wasn't time to catch his breath, though—now that he was finally confronting his twin, there wasn't time to breathe. The li-tigon panted, not out of exertion, but to try to get some oxygen back into his lungs, to speed up the process that was healing him even as he considered his next move. Kifo was still there, blazing away—Freak could see spent casing after casing fly, smoking, from the chamber of his weapon despite the fact that the demon was hundreds of yards away and he had only peeked out for a second.

Freak waited, for a moment—not to rest, not to recuperate, but simply out of the hope that the demon's fire would continue its current bias away from his direction. If he rushed out while Kifo was firing toward him… well, there wouldn't be much left if he took a grenade to the face.

Fortunately, Kifo's misguided trend continued—Freak was in the clear. An opportunity like that wouldn't last for long, so, while it existed, the li-tigon took it.

Racing low to the ground, just in case his twin decided to launch a few grenades in his direction while he approached, Freak sprinted across the ground. He maintained silence as he did so, with difficulty—but Akane had been very clear in what he'd said. Although Freak was invisible to his enemy, he still made noise.

Now, he was in the immediate vicinity of the eight foot tall monster that was threatening everything and everyone he held dear. Maybe—just maybe—Freak could turn against Kifo his own greatest weapon: fear.

With that in mind, the li-tigon allowed the demon to see him as he made his way up and over the final rise between them. They were close enough, then, that he could see every detail of Kifo's scared, scaly form—his dark fur was pulled taught around the ironclad bunches of muscles that put his physique at a level above Freak's.

But power wasn't everything. Freak knew that, and he knew it because he'd spent his entire life fighting enemies far, far more powerful than him. This was no different.

Kifo turned at the last second—or, in fact, an instant after that; an instant too late. He tried to bring his grenade launcher to bear, but there was no time: the li-tigon was on him. Freak tackled the demon with such force that the wind was knocked out of him, as, together, the twins flew into the air. Before a second passed, the li-tigon had his teeth and claws in Kifo—was this the end?

* * *

Fifty caliber rifles have limited backpacking use—unless, of course, you're a member of the seven-feet-tall-three-hundred-pound-or-more club. Such things exist, although most of their numbers exist in "sports" like professional wrassling.

Kifo, though, had no difficulty toting the overlarge weapon in one hand, pretending to shoot things as he and Kishindo sought to confirm the kill he'd made. He strolled along, to the southwest, still in a rather good mood from the massacre he was going to commit.

Nothing could ruin his day, it seemed. Even the miserable desert that he was leaving was no long bright and sunny and hot—cloud cover had rolled in, and didn't seem like it would be leaving anytime soon. Above Kifo, in fact, was a concentration of airborne moisture so thick that it blotted out the Sun entirely—it comforted him to know that everything else that lived in the White Sands, from travelling herds to snakes to the tiniest desert any would be unable to look to the sky with hope. He'd taken away hope—what fun.

"Hold up."

Kifo frowned. Fucking Kishindo—getting in his way all the time, holding him back… did he really need her anymore? No, he really didn't. The lioness had walked up in front of the demon, her tawny, somewhat scraggly form standing out against the White Sands'… sands. It would be so easy, he thought, lifting his rifle, aiming it in her general direction, to end the annoyances she forced on him…

"Kifo, this doesn't make sense."

"Huh? Oh… shit…"

Before the lioness could realize what he'd almost done, the demon turned, quickly, rifle at his hip—but there was nothing, nothing at _all_ in the area except for blood.

And a lot of it.

Kifo's bullet had met its mark, there was no doubt about that. Conceivably, it struck the lion in the meaty part of his shoulder, or perhaps somewhere on the foreleg—there were no bone fragments to be found, anywhere, so the demon had only landed a flesh wound. It had not been an instant kill, and, in fact, it was more than possible that the lion had survived long enough to move—though not very far.

Why, then, despite the time and effort the two spent searching for the body, were they unsuccessful? What could possibly have rendered it invisible to them—and how? The answer, was, obviously, nothing—nothing natural, anyway, and the demon was the only unnatural thing in the Land of the Spirits. Nothing else could touch him.

Kishindo spoke up, a moment later, in a tone that made it clear how unsure of herself she was. And there was nothing incidental about the manner and position in which she oriented herself with respect to Kifo—she was preparing to defend herself.

"It must be," she said, slowly, eyes traveling across the uniform desert sand, "that you're so powerful… that when you shot him, he was killed—completely. There must _be_ nothing left of his body to find… that must be it."

"Yeah." He sounded a lot more confident than she did, so, after a moment, the lioness shrugged, and stood normally. Indeed, nothing unexpected happened—it looked like she was right.

"This is good," Kishindo noted, as they began to walk again, again bearing down on the Pride Lands. "_Vaporizing_ a lion in one shot… you are powerful, Kifo. It's almost breathtaking."

"I try," the demon said, smirking, though not in a dangerous manner. "But I'm not using a sniper rifle on the Pride Landers—not enough bullets in a clip."

After the Lion Sheikh got over emulating such a blatant display of gun newbishness, he got back to the story at hand.

"So what will you use, then?" the lioness asked in an almost precatory manner. "Something powerful, to be sure… but what?"

"I'll decide later," Kifo shrugged, finally starting to move away from the area where the lion had ostensibly—no, definitely—been killed. "For now, what I've got is good enough. Let's get going, Kishindo."

She nodded, briefly, knowing better than to reply. Of the few traits that encompassed Kifo's being, tolerance for unnecessary chatter was not one of them—and she appreciated that, really, she did. No true leader could like talking much—Scar certainly hadn't; she remembered that with stunning clarity.

Now, Kishindo knew that Kifo would never replace Scar, not in any manner. He could, however, exact revenge on the dead fascist's usurpers—and that was enough for her. So, with a slight, malicious smile, and not the slightest intuition that she was being watched, the lioness moved a little closer to the demon's side, walking forward, coolly, confidently, to the White Sands.

* * *

How he survived was something that no one would ever know, not for certain. It wasn't divine intervention that had protected Akane—the Spirits had been irrelevant for months. Could it be said, then, that he was lucky?... perhaps, yes, it could. But it could also be said that the lion's sheer willpower kept him on his feet, fearless, proud and noble and strong as he waited for the demon to finish him.

It was minutes before he realized that, somehow, he was invisible to Kifo.

That was a significant discovery. Potentially, Akane thought, it could give Freak the advantage he needed to kill his twin.

And that meant that martyrdom would have to be postponed. Akane had to get back to the Pride Lands—immediately. He couldn't risk anything to waylay the demon, or attempt to…

The white lion watched as, after a moment, Kifo and the strange, deadly-looking lioness at his side left him, continuing, inexorably, to his home—to kill his family, he reminded himself; every being that he'd known and loved since he was a cub.

It couldn't be said that his parents and their brutal followers didn't have it coming—but Akane had never been cold-hearted; indeed, he'd largely been ostracized from his family for the opposite reason. Abandoning so many admittedly flawed beings to torture and total annihilation was not something he did easily.

But he did it.

He felt like a coward, though he knew that he was not. He could offer a service to the Land that far exceeded what just another dead body, lying to rot or mummify in the White Sands would—he could give Freak a real weapon against his twin. That's why he was running—not because he feared death.

This lack of fear, in fact, was why he had survived his encounter.

* * *

(Massive points to whoever is able to guess who the grandfather is!)

"If you don't shoot, you don't eat."

Motivation for marksmanship, it seemed. Of course, not to the boy that that curt, harsh statement was delivered to. It wasn't that his grandfather was cruel, not really—he was, however, somewhat too realistic. There was no need, really, to be so honest to a ten year old.

In truth, however, he wasn't just any ten year old—he formed a third of his grandfather's living relatives. Hunter blood ran in his veins; he'd been a natural shot since he'd first taken a rifle into his hand over a year before. He'd made his first kill before he truly understood what he was doing—the hope was that this act would have an effect on him similar to the effect it had had on his brother.

The goal, of course, was complete desensitization. A lack of sympathy for lesser, subhuman creatures was the only reason the old man had pulled himself out of otherwise certainly permanent destitution all the years before to become what he was that day—an old, blind cripple hardly capable of bringing a spoonful of food to his mouth without assistance.

Several times, the boy had considered suggesting that he did not want to follow in the path of his grandfather or that of his brother. Several times, though, he'd shown wisdom beyond his years and kept his mouth tightly shut.

Self-censorship before even attending public school. In many ways, he was ahead of the game.

There was little rain that day, despite its immediate proximity to a season known across the world as one in which everything that was not permanently attached to the ground and many things that were were carried away by torrents of water so large and so powerful that one could only watch, in awe, as his house was destroyed. A hilled community offered some protection against the flooding, but this house—this sad, lonely shack, constructed out of cut-down saplings and brick and mortar and metal sheeting—it was on the fringe of the village, well into an area in which heavy flooding would undoubtedly occur.

The boy worked the bolt of his grandfather's rifle with the ease and skill of a professional, before slipping a single round into its magazine; he would need no more. Once the firearm was loaded and ready, he slung it over his somewhat bony, narrow shoulders, and stood.

"I'll go now, Grandfather. I'll be back soon—please pray for me… we're due for a tiger attack."

"Never," the old man growled. He felt around, with a trembling hand, until his fingers brushed across a box. As the boy watched, his grandfather brought a dirty, somewhat tapered cigarette to his mouth, lit it, and began to smoke.

The habit was one of the many things killing him at such a relatively young age. It was true that his homeland was third-world to the core, but life expectancy had risen, slowly, to at least mid-sixties. At fifty two, though, the man was more sick and broken than many men twenty years his senior. He would die soon, and he knew it—he might as well enjoy what time he had left with what life he had left.

"Listen, you idiot child," he said—the boy stopped in his tracks, but he did not turn to face the man. "There is no God; there is no purpose in prayer. All that matters is what you do with what you have. I can sit here like a superstitious old monkey and hope for your safety all I want, but the only thing that will protect you from a tiger's jaws are your own hands. Understand?"

He wanted to do and say many things just then. At least, he wanted to calmly say, "No." And at most, he wanted to turn, lift his rifle to his shoulder and put a bullet in his grandfather's head.

"Yes, Grandfather."

Perhaps a respect for prudence was something he'd inherited from his grandfather as well.

Some minutes later and the boy was in the jungle. He had an easier time flitting, silently, through the closely-packed trees and shrubbery than he would when he was older, taller—at well under four feet tall, he disturbed the environment less than a man ever could.

It wasn't just out of prudence, though, that the boy kept so incredibly quiet. Unlike his grandfather and his brother, he liked the jungle. Unlike the village and the family into which he would never really assimilate, he felt at home in the forest.

The constant livelihood of it was breathtaking. The boy's hearing was sharp—unlike most, he didn't hear a dull, monotonous din as he entered the jungle. He heard all of the individuals sounds that made it: the flow of water in innumerable, miniscule streams, the movement of small animals and insects, the slight rustle of leaves against one another…

It had been very rainy, of late, but the boy knew that the real downpour had not yet started. Walking was tough, or it would have been, if he didn't know where and where not to step—mud would have sucked at his feet, pulling him down and immobilizing him if he wasn't careful. But he knew what he was doing: he'd hunted for his family before, a dozen times.

Without realizing it, he'd traveled at least two miles into the jungle. This was more than far enough for some terrible predator to take him and make off, making him vanish too completely to be traced. A hundred yards from the village, things started to get dangerous—a lone ten year old at least half an hour from the nearest able man was defenseless.

He squeezed through a gnarled, twisted tree buffered by a thorny plant with which he was unfamiliar. He paused, realizing that, and took a moment to examine the leaves and the positions of the spikes that lined its brown, sinewy branches—in seconds, he'd memorized every aspect of it. Such knowledge would probably never prove useful in his life, but he walked away with a smile on his face.

Annoyingly, however, it seemed that there was nothing to hunt that day. The boy wasn't surprised; after all, the rainy season would start very, very soon—perhaps later that day, even. Still, he should have been able to find something, some lone straggler, some bird or something else.

Luck was not on his side that day. Another half an hour later, and he still had seen… nothing. Now, the boy was starting to feel real concern, and not for himself. Though thin, he could go for a day or two without food—his grandfather, however, was never more than a few inches from death's door at any time.

Perhaps, then, it was time to change strategies.

What could be causing the absolute dearth of creatures? It wasn't the boy—he was being far too careful and silent for that. It was almost as if something had been there before him; something big and clumsy that had scared everything away.

Yeah. Right. He might as well quit wasting time and head home to rest and save energy. Who knew, maybe the old man would finally croak, leaving him in relative peace.

He regretted that thought almost the second after it occurred to him. Morality aside, there was karma to consider—maybe his brother would beat him up extra hard the next time he was in a bad mood.

Or, maybe, he'd make the slightest misstep, breaking a twig with an audible snap—alerting the reason that there were no animals left in the forest that it was not alone.

The boy wasn't far from her when she jumped to her feet, hissing in surprise. How he'd missed her at all was a matter of simple poor luck—a strange depression in the ground, separated from him by a rather thick tree had rendered her invisible to him. Now that he saw her, though, he knew that his life was at an end.

She was fifteen feet away, almost glowing in the subdued green of the jungle—her fur was _white_, and the boy knew that if his grandfather had heard a reliable account of a creature like her, he would have pursued her 'til the ends of the Earth. He would have done so without a second of reflection, a second of appreciation for the beauty before him.

Well. Although she was going to kill him, that didn't mean that the boy had to hate her. Already, he'd lowered his rifle—then dropped it. His fate was constant; all the mattered now was how he spent his final seconds.

He'd never seen anything like her, though his grandfather had told him that white tigers existed, behind bars. The extreme rarity of the trait, combined with the obvious disadvantages it carried—finding one like in the wild was a treat that few men ever tasted.

He considered, briefly, attempting to shoot her. It wouldn't be hard, and if he failed, well, he wouldn't be losing anything that he already surely would. The boy looked down—his rifle was on his foot; it would be easy to snap it up and point-shoot, or attempt to. A skin like hers could bring _generational_ wealth, although it would have to be sold on the black market to some Arab (or Texan) oil sheikh. He was literally looking at an opportunity to make him and his sons and their sons prosperous, safe, happy, content.

In the end, though, he decided to accept his fate. She would do as nature and prudence dictated—his suffering would be at an end.

"Make it quick, please," the boy said, though he knew that it was useless. She was a tigress; she couldn't understand him.

* * *

The battle, it seemed, would be a classic contest of agility and speed versus sheer animal power. Freak was faster than Kifo, but Kifo was incomparably stronger than the li-tigon. The great white shark analogy that the Lion Sheikh employed earlier remains sounded—the demon thrashed around in his twin's grasp, struggling for an escape. It took Freak every skill he had to stay on his enemy—delivering meaningful attacks was another issue.

At first, the demon tried to get up, but Freak repeatedly managed to wrestle him back down to the ground. Although one of the li-tigon's paws was occupied, helping him cling to Kifo, he had a free paw—his steel-trap jaws notwithstanding. The li-tigon struck, twice—the first blow was diagonally upward, raking over the demon's muscle-bound chest. That attack directly chained into a sort of grab, which pressed the demon's face aside, baring the union of his jaw and his neck as well as the vulnerable nerves and arteries there.

All this happened in less than a second. Freak had dived into Kifo with such force that the demon had cracked a rib; a painful injury that he didn't notice thanks to the continued onslaught against his face. The li-tigon's blitzkrieg, though, was too quick, too hasty—he hadn't prepared for failure and he had no means of defense. He'd bet on the hope that he'd be able to kill or at least seriously injure the demon and then jump off.

Things, unfortunately, did not work out.

Though Kifo reeled from the initial vatic ferocity of the warrior's assault, he was too tough to be crushed so quickly. To be sure, he was hurt by the li-tigon's claws—they gouged long, cavernous wounds at least a centimeter deep into his flesh. A palatable hit, to be sure, but not a debilitating one—not by a long shot.

The brief lull that allowed the demon a chance to land a decisive counterstrike occurred when Freak went in for the final blow. He was fast, but he was also predictable—he went for obvious bait too easily; he'd overestimated the factor by which his own speed outstripped Kifo's.

In short, the demon was able to reach up with his left paw—he took hold of the li-tigon's spine, causing the slightest, instinctive spasm—this brief delay misguided Freak's bite enough to give Kifo time to act with his right hand.

He formed his massive appendage into an ironclad fist, and moved it up, quickly, millimeters from his own form. The close-in uppercut was aimed and executed perfectly, though it was an _extremely_ risky maneuver. Freak's steely jaws came within inches of Kifo's neck when the blow connected.

The punch was so hard that the demon was jarred. He swore that he felt his bones deform when his knuckles connected with the li-tigon's jawbone, forcing his mouth shut with explosive force powerful enough to make his mouth bleed. The energy of the strike, though, was far in excess of the amount required simply to shut Freak up—the excess continued on, unstoppably, to throw Freak off the demon.

Or, it would have—if Kifo hadn't had a death-grip on his twin's back.

The demon barely kept hold of the li-tigon after the jolt of the punch hit his paw. Freak's fur strained _almost_ to the breaking point, but it held—no massive wound was opened to infection and blood loss, but the alternative wasn't much better. The li-tigon had blacked out from Kifo's first real hit of the fight, and now he was literally in the demon's grasp.

Kifo, however, would shortly make the same mistake that his twin had. He would underestimate his foe.

Yes, Freak blacked out—but not for very long. His spell of unconsciousness was so brief that he came to without forgetting where he was or what he was doing—not a millisecond after the demon's blow had connected. He looked around, rapidly, ignoring the agony of having his coat almost torn in two, and saw that Kifo's paw was still continuing upward; the demon had punched _through_ his jaw and doubtlessly was preparing for a follow-up of some sort—but Freak wouldn't let that happen.

The li-tigon's mouth clamped shut around Kifo's hand again. The demon howled in agony and tried to shove Freak away, but now he was the one that was predictable. The li-tigon had already taken advantage of the shock of being bitten that had caused Kifo to release his back and thrown his hindquarters to the side—the large angular inertia gave him the torque necessary to twist, viciously, causing his teeth to sink through the flesh in Kifo's hand. Now, literally, the demon's paw was skewered, at least a dozen different ways, by his twin's teeth.

And, as suddenly as he'd appeared, Freak had disappeared.

* * *

Well. At least now, Kifo knew that his hand had been targeted specifically for elimination. It was a reasonable strategy, to be sure—putting one of his hands out of commission would be a serious blow to his offensive capabilities. Even as the cat wrench him, though, onto his belly, the demon had decided to throw the dog a bone, in a fashion.

Acting rashly was one of Kifo's… pastimes, really. Nothing beat the rush of going into a high-risk environment without a clear plan or even an idea of what might result from one's actions. In that fashion, at least, what he was doing had some precedent. It wasn't simple self-mutilation.

The thick, brambly grasses of the northeastern Pride Lands had just enough give to them to allow Kifo's feet a purchase. Instead of immediately resisting the li-tigon's efforts, though, Kifo not only accepted them but exceeded them—he clawed himself to his feet and ran forward, briefly, as fast as he could so as to normalize or even decrease the tension on his hand.

Then, however, he stopped in his tracks. And he took up his blade with his free hand.

And cut his other hand off, just below the wrist.

Black, thick ichor spurted from the grotesque injury the second Kifo's angular blade met his flesh. He'd sliced through several inches of tough flesh and bone with a single, deft stroke; the change in the speed of his weapon due to the cut was negligible—that's how sharp it was.

Kifo didn't stop moving; he was prepared to lose his hand. The numbness, the lack of feeling that emanated from the stump below where his wrist would have been didn't slow him down—it merely tempered his will, and allowed him to see the blatant shimmer in the air before him, centered, in part, around the disembodied hand that had once been his.

"I think I'm starting to understand things," the demon said. He leaped forward—and a second later, he'd pinned a struggling, invisible mass to the ground, taking advantage of his greater size, weight, and strength. He couldn't see his enemy, but he could feel him. Effecting any sort of workable lock or pin would not be possible—a simple onslaught would, however, have dramatic results.

"You're not really invisible," Kifo continued, as he feinted with his knife—and looked to his other hand. Yes, his other hand—already, a slender, somewhat underdeveloped appendage had started to grow back. "I think I'm starting to get it."

The demon was straddling Freak, holding him in position with enough pressure to crush a truck engine. And then, the blows began to rain down on him.

Many of them missed, but those that hit were powerful enough to jar the li-tigon's brain within his skull. The feline was lithe and agile, but he was not invincible—he could only take so many of the vicious attacks before something broke—like a rib.

* * *

Clearly, it was time to change tactics. Freak took two fists to the upper chest and face before he realized that he wasn't going to get very far by fighting from the ground. Of course, it wasn't exactly easy to escape from a hold like the one he was trapped in—but the li-tigon could cope. He had no other option.

What kind of a monster, he asked himself, would cut off his own hand in order to create the most transient of advantages? What had Kifo intended to gain by that act—he'd given up his hand in order to surprise the li-tigon for the briefest of moments. His actions had resulted in a net loss, or certainly would, when Freak found a way to get away from the demon.

Going for Kifo's face or arms, however, seemed foolish. If he reached up to attempt to claw out the demon's neck, Kifo's skin would protect him long enough for him to pin the li-tigon's arm in place and then go for a vicious break. It was best to keep his forelegs where they were, as buffers between Kifo's fists and his face, and attempt to swallow down the disquieted, shocked expression caused by the recent, unexpected move.

Kifo wasn't letting up, though, so Freak had to act—and soon. The li-tigon's options were rather limited, but not entirely bad. When he sank his teeth into the demon's leg and _bit_ down, tugging to the side in an attempt to make neat shreds out of Kifo's quadricep, Kifo knew precisely where he was—but he also jerked back the slightest amount.

That was enough.

The li-tigon slid downward. An instant later, he was behind his enemy, while Kifo was still reeling from the sudden, crushing bite—but this time, Freak knew better than to go for a simple blow to the back or side of the skull. Instead, he decided to take advantage of his belief that due to all of the toughened flesh coating his form, Kifo wasn't exactly flexible.

Freak raced forward and took the demon by the scruff of the neck. Now, it was Kifo's skin that was nearly torn off his body as the li-tigon ran, quickly, back toward the forest. The demon tried, unsuccessfully, to reach his attacker, but he could only barely rap Freak's chest with the back of his knuckles. He tried to use his blade, too, but due to the angle at which Freak had attacked, a counter was essentially impossible.

Kifo could neither grab at the ground to slow himself down nor get to his feet—they were simply moving too fast. Sooner or later, he would have come up with something—if Freak hadn't kept sprinting at that furious pace before hauling Kifo's head into a tree.

* * *

The demon saw stars, but regardless, he managed to get to his feet—shakily. With his back to the tree that he'd just plowed into, he raised his knife in preparation to defend, while he lifted his unarmed hand up to feel the results of the crushing blow that he'd just been dealt.

His fingers came back black and stinking, and the demon knew that the dizziness he felt would take a few moments to go away. Not much time could have passed, however, since the li-tigon had struck him—he felt an emptiness at the back of his neck where his skin and some of its connective tissue had been torn away and hadn't yet returned.

Though Kifo was conscious, he wasn't in the best shape. He was still reeling from the terrific blow, and, worse, he was now in an environment that severely hampered his retaliatory capacities. Directly before the demon, the forest opened up—but crossing those fifty yards to the dozens of miles of open sand and grassland wouldn't be possible. Not immediately, anyway. Doubtlessly, his enemy was expecting such a blatant rush, and now Kifo knew that he would only win this fight by being spontaneous and unpredictable.

Rapidly, the demon's vision cleared. There was still a terrible gash across his skull, but even the pain from that was abating—it was time for something to happen. Freak would attack soon—unacceptable. Kifo had to force this engagement out of his enemy's comfort zone.

The quickest way to do that was the most obvious, but it wouldn't be to Freak. No, it was doubtful that the li-tigon could predict the rate at which his enemy would adapt to the pace of the battle; his strategies weren't fluid enough. Kifo, though, was dynamic and his skills were more well-rounded than Freak could have thought possible. Being bipedal, after all, had its advantages—and one of them was the ability to climb faster than a feline ever could.

Although Kifo's leg was somewhat damaged, he still had more than enough strength to squat, slightly, before jumping upward, turning 180 degrees in the process. Before he reached the apex height that his leap would have returned, he sheathed his blade and began to claw his way up the tree, rapidly forming his next plan. He was in the tree, Freak was either on the ground or on his level but gravely disadvantaged. The only question was—how was he going to change the flow of the fight again?

* * *

Freak had carried Kifo _through_ the tree, and when the demon's head had struck that tough, unyielding surface, the resulting jolt had nearly torn several of the li-tigon's teeth out. The cold satisfaction that resulted, however, more than compensated for the slight discomfort—he'd landed a serious blow, he knew, and an injury like that would overwhelm even Kifo's healing factor, if for just a few minutes. That was enough time to—

_"Cheeky,"_ the li-tigon thought, as, silently, he circled around to watch Kifo scramble upward, clawing his way past and through several lower branches too quickly to be followed. Freak was reminded, briefly, of a dark, hairy spider—Kifo's dexterity was incredible. Although he was a demon, his human influences were apparent—Freak needed to remember that.

It was likely that sooner rather than later, Kifo would stop climbing. Then, Freak reasoned, he would create some other terrible weapon and indiscriminately start to destroy the forest again. Although the temptation to allow the demon to bring the forest down around him and then tear him from his perch into the jumbled mess of logs and shattered wood below was strong, Freak knew that he had to set a very low limit on the amount of destruction Kifo would be allowed to cause.

Invisible to the demon, Freak moved as quickly as he possibly could. He glanced upward, briefly, gunmetal eyes flashing with intuition—then, he jumped forward at a roughly 45 degree angle.

Kifo could climb fast, this was true, but there was no reason that Freak couldn't beat him with his superior mind and agility. The li-tigon reached forward with his massive forepaws, accepting the impact outputted by the tree he'd jumped into—less than a tenth of a second later, he'd brought his hind paws up and kicked off.

In midair, the li-tigon twisted so that the process could continue. Although exhausting and perilous—the slightest miscalculation, now, could drop him an uninterrupted fifty feet—his ascent was rapid. Rebounding between the two adjacent trees, Freak would beat Kifo on their race to the treetops—the only question that remained was what would happen when they stopped climbing?

* * *

Kifo, by then, had armed himself with a medium-bore rifle of uncertain caliber and model; it was strapped to his back so that when he finally got far enough away from the ground, he'd be able to draw and fire rapidly. He had his claws out, halfway, so that he could pull himself up without attaching himself to the tree itself. At first, his eyes were fixed upward, on his destination, but soon he saw the folly in that and began to look around, after the rather unpleasant image of Freak jumping through the air to tackle him to the ground crossed his mind.

He'd raised the stakes, ironically, by bringing the fight up to a new level. With his superior strength, Kifo could hold onto the tree and pummel his enemy until he lost his grip, accepting whatever blows were thrown in return until Freak was plunging down—hopefully, to his death.

What the demon did not expect, however, was for Freak to climb up to him so quickly, and attack from an angle so unexpected—the assault was too sudden for Kifo to put into practice any of the tactics he'd thought up.

Freak attacked him from the back—and he knew better than to try to give the li-tigon a guilt trip over such a tactic. The li-tigon didn't believe that there was such a thing as ethics in the context of a fight—he had, and always would, do whatever was necessary to win. Ethics, after all, don't help you if you lose.

The li-tigon latched onto Kifo's back, taking advantage of the demon's skin's cohesion. There was no way Freak would fall off, and Kifo couldn't easily throw him off—now was his time to deal his twin was much damage as he possibly could.

Holding himself in place with his equivalent of a full nelson, the li-tigon allowed his hind legs to dangle free while he bit down on Kifo's trapezius. He could hardly fit the thick chunk of muscle in his mouth, but he managed it, and applied as much force as he possibly could. It was unlikely that he could tear directly through the armored flesh, but causing internal bleeding and nerve damage would be almost as bad.

The demon lurched in pain—Freak felt it—and screamed, as well, a roar so loud and close that his ears folded back. He snarled, though, through his bite, and continued the assault. All the while, though, the li-tigon couldn't help but wonder—Kifo wasn't fighting back, but he was still climbing. Why?

* * *

Well, to be honest, Kifo didn't know either.

He couldn't fight back, he knew that, and simply stopping would tell his enemy that he'd been taken off guard. At least if he continued the pretense that he was planning something, Freak would be on his guard and not devoting all of his attention to tearing up the demon's neck.

How long this tactic could be maintained, though, was limited by two factors: Kifo was running out of tree to climb, and he was also running out of _flesh_ that could withstand the constant crushing force exerted against him.

The demon's face was contorted with rage, then, but not just rage—there was another, unfamiliar expression etched into the deep creases of his skin. It was one that he hadn't felt since before his "death"—_well_ before his "death".

Turning didn't help; neither did attempting to kick, punch, or claw at Freak. He couldn't bring a firearm to bear, either—if he put a pistol anywhere near the li-tigon, he'd lose his hand again or simply have the weapon batted away, to the ground. In short, the demon realized, as he broke free of the canopy, exploding into a sky so clear and bright and blue that it hurt his eyes to look at it, he was going to lose if he didn't fundamentally change the way the battle was happening.

Thus far, the only constant in Freak's and Kifo's battle had been change—sudden, surprising, massive changes that had completely reversed the flow of the fight whenever they happened. Sooner or later, one or both of the combatants would run out of tricks, and things would settle into a straight, direct engagement. In a fashion, theirs was a war of attrition—whoever ran out of creativity first would lose.

Kifo knew this. And he knew that he had to again act in an unexpected manner, though he didn't know how.

Perhaps that was what caused him to let go of the tree and jump as high as he could, a clear thirty five additional feet into the air. Freak, doubtlessly, would be surprised by that and react, perhaps in a manner that would give the demon the upper-hand—

But Kifo was wrong. He was continually chewed up, though there was no way that his attacker didn't know that they were seconds from arriving at the apex of their battle, seconds from starting to fall with enough speed to feel every preliminary impact before they were both broken apart when they hit the ground.

Maybe Freak was just as determined and insane as he was. That was a disturbing thought, but it meant that the demon had nothing to lose. Long-term prudence be damned—he'd have to struggle to come through this by the skin of his teeth.

With that in mind, Kifo looked down and to the side. He focused, manipulating the dark energy within him that allowed him to create guns and blades and ammunition in a rather different manner than he usually did. The demon saw his elbow ripple—before a spike of sudden pain shot through him.

And Freak.

* * *

The li-tigon knew, of course, that Kifo has just effectively committed suicide. By blindly leaping into open space, he'd disarmed himself—Freak expected the demon to reach up, over his back, and grapple with the li-tigon's face. Either that, or simply try to slam his back into a tree.

Both responses would have been relatively effective, and would have forced Freak to change tactics or simply bail out. But in mid-air, there was no reason for him to stop biting and digging his claws into the demon—he could jump off whenever he wanted to. The damage he was doing now, he hoped, would make it necessary only to finish Kifo off when he hit the ground, because Freak somehow knew that the demon would survive the fall.

Rapidly, they began to speed up. Freak was biting as hard as he could, but results were slow in coming. Clawing at Kifo's neck would do no good; he had to keep his claws in the demon flesh to make any progress—it was getting time to make his escape. The li-tigon suddenly released Kifo and turned, striped form twisting in the air as he pushed off of the demon—

And, because of the spike in his side, got nowhere.

A slick, organic black blade had grown out of the back of Kifo's elbow, it seemed, quickly enough to stab through Freak's protective fur and muscle. The li-tigon actually felt the strange, bone-like structure enter him, goring his diaphragm, before he changed his goal.

The li-tigon couldn't breathe, and he didn't dare move around too much—if he did, Kifo's blade, still growing and expanding, could very easily tear open a hole large enough for Freak's guts to spill out. His best option would be to take that hit until the last possible second, and, until then, ravage his enemy.

It was at least comforting to know that one of the demon's arms was occupied and wouldn't be going anywhere, leaving Kifo with only one frail hand for self-defense as Freak repeatedly struck him with his powerful paws. His blows were as powerful as he could make them and they were also malicious and hateful—the li-tigon wanted to _crush_ his enemy with such violence that no one so much as looked at him wrong ever again.

In this manner, the two combatants, neither discernible from the other, began to fall.

* * *

Hunting was rather different when one didn't plan to come back from the hunt. Less inhibitions created opportunities that could not otherwise exist. Kishindo still had to kill one of them before moving on to the other, though—that would be a pain. She could, of course, make her goal to take either Simba or Kovu, but that wouldn't satisfy—the lioness would probably die that day; her only hopes of survival required for Kifo to come back after his victory against Freak and rescue her, wiping Simba's Pride from the face of the planet.

Well. She wanted the pleasure of killing one or both lions, if she could manage it—she needed that cold satisfaction to be only hers.

Kishindo was following her nose to the west, for some reason. She inferred, correctly, that every single lion in the Land was patrolling the borders—why? It would make some sense if they were protecting a certain part of the border, forming along some threatened area in a sort of normally distributed phalanx.

But they hadn't just built up the defenses of one part of the Pride Lands—so, they weren't worried about invasion from one specific aggressor. They were paranoid—that's why they were so spread out. They were worried about something big… something bigger than Kifo? That didn't make sense—no such force existed.

The lioness sighed; she was attempting the impossible. Simba and his lot were loony—there was no function whatsoever in trying to figure his motivations out. Kishindo wondered, briefly, if this was some sort of overly elaborate trap—but that didn't seem very likely. She could be defeated, after all, with sheer brute force—five lioness would have sufficed. Even Simba would have known to do that.

Kishindo, then, had the element of surprise. That was enough for her.

Though old, the lioness could move quickly—and quietly, at the same time. It wasn't long, though, before she had to ditch speed entirely in favor of stealth. Quickly, she was coming up on a passing squad of lionesses—they were five hundred yards away, but there wasn't much in the manner of cover between herself and them.

Kishindo got down and peered through the vertical slats of grass that dominated the Pride Lands' west, eyes malevolent but curious. These females… were entirely unfamiliar to her. They were far too old to have been born after her "death"—that meant that somehow, Simba's Pride had grown in strength.

Did anyone have a brain anymore?

She sighed in familiar frustration—then, the lionesses were far enough for her to get up and press on. Kishindo's paws noiselessly glided across the ground, kicking up no dust as they moved her forward. It had been years, literally, since she'd been so far into the Pride Lands—and it felt so, _so_ good to walk around with the gritty, somewhat painful feeling of chipped rock under her feet. That was the norm for her previous home in the area.

Now, things were getting interesting. Kishindo could smell Simba—specifically him. It had been quite some time since she'd last scented the monarch, but she hadn't forgotten the specific blend of outrage and calm, academic hatred she felt when she detected him. It was him for sure—five miles more to the west, and she'd be on him.

The problem, of course, was all the damn lionesses he had around. One on one, Kishindo stood a good chance of tearing Simba literally limb from limb—but he'd never fight fair. He never did.

Yet, Kishindo continued to crawl toward the red-maned lion. She didn't have much of a choice—wait, just a second…

That scent… that was no lioness, but she was very close to Simba. She was playing with Simba—she was a cub, Kishindo guessed, though not with much confidence. For all the lioness knew, the perverse false God of the Pride Lands had taken on another mate—one far younger than him.

Either way, Kishindo had an opportunity before her too enticing to refuse. A crooked smile twisted across her face—she would have her blood, soon enough.

* * *

Believe it or not, the Spirits had not been up to absolutely nothing. Despite the Lion Sheikh's failure to detail their actions for several chapters—or more—their efforts did have some results. They just weren't easily visible and attributable, that's all.

For example, they worked long and hard to make Freak's journey from the Desert to the Pride Lands as quick and easy as possible. They did much more to maintain a reasonable supply of food, water, and Sun in the Pride Lands—they had neither the excess power nor time to speak to their loved ones. It was hard.

Especially for Mufasa, who, previously, had contacted his son almost every other day. Chukizo and Scar actually had advantage over him in this manner—they had a child that they could be with as much as they wanted. Of course, it was hard to only occasionally catch glimpses of their son—but they managed. Somehow.

They were rather removed, though, from the events of the world. Kifo's Master had done a lot to take them out of the picture, seeing the danger in allowing his enemies to be armed with the weapon of hope.

As a result, no one really knew when Freak and Kifo started to fight. They couldn't—but for some reason, that day, little Maisha was even more grateful than usual when her uncle came to play.

* * *

Let us now consider the potential of the Black Army to _really_ make things interesting.

First, a brief rundown of the situation: Freak and Kifo going at it in the northeast, the Pride Lands' best spread out across the southern and western borders of their home, and Kishindo was busy infiltrating their masses with a vicious plan and the ability to carry it out.

The one area that really was vulnerable, though, was the Pride Lands' southeast—where it bordered the Jungle and the Eastern Volcanoes. A simple invasion by a small, fast group would have gone unnoticed for hours, potentially allowing them to get all the way to Pride Rock.

Fortunately, though, the Black Army was on strict orders to stand down—they didn't even do any killing while they were in the Jungle, paradoxically quite close to the cave that Freak had once called home. Shah bristled and stormed back and forth, but he couldn't fire a shot—the gag order given by his Master was too powerful.

The reason that the Black Army couldn't be mobilized was the fact that the Spirits were working overtime—setting foot into the Pride Lands would be either impossible or fatal, and simply wasting such a marvelous force—even while another army was being prepared—wasn't wise.

So, for the moment, the Black Army bided its time. They knew that they'd have a chance to rock and roll soon enough—when Kifo and Freak were finished whatever they had going on, well… then, it would be time for whoever the survivor was to encounter real resistance.

* * *

Kifo couldn't strike Freak repeatedly, but what he could do was churn the black spine that had grown from his elbow around, roughly, tearing up the li-tigon's innards. Into his gouging thrusts, he poured all his cruelty, his malice, and his will to dominate all life—er, that is—well, the above description, though stolen, is not inaccurate.

Freak fought back, but the spike in his gut was at least distracting. It hampered his movement significantly, though, fortunately, not to the point that he was unable to batter the demon's head. The li-tigon gripped the organic knife in one paw, keeping it relatively still with respect to his body while he smashed his other appendage into his twin's skull.

The affect wasn't as dramatic as it would have been if Kifo had less tough flesh to absorb the shock of the vicious blows. Still, Freak could tell that his efforts were being rewarded—if not with unconsciousness, then at least with a jarred brain. Just a few more hits out to put Kifo down for the count, giving him a chance to bail—

There. The limen came when a powerful, sudden blow collided directly into the demon's ear, causing a pressure difference too great to readily compensate. Freak saw Kifo recoil and shake his head, in confusion and pain—and knew that he had his chance.

The li-tigon didn't know much about the conservation of mechanical energy or momentum, not in the academic sense. He did, however, know that he could make Kifo's collision with the ground even more devastating if he jumped, roughly, upward.

With that in mind, Freak pulled himself free of the demon's terrible blade, and tensed his muscles. Looking around at the blurred trees gradually widening in his vision, the li-tigon selected one particularly tough looking branch—that would be his perch. He pushed off, then—

And got about two feet away from the demon before Kifo grabbed his twin's hindpaw.

An annoying ringing in his ears wasn't nearly enough to put him out of commission—not even close. It angered him, yes, but the series of blows Freak's relatively soft, giving paws had dealt his head wasn't enough to do anything serious. Only the li-tigon's claws and jaws could really injure his twin.

Kifo yanked Freak back toward him, almost crushing the cat's ankle in his King Kong-like grasp. The whiplash of his sudden reversal of direction made Freak's eyes bulge, almost blacking him out as his twin began to punch him, repeatedly, in the ribs.

Freak felt one, or two, or perhaps more of the relatively weak protective bones in his chest collapse entirely, shattering into several vicious fragments. His internals were bruised—he couldn't breathe for the brief period of time that Kifo's fist was literally inside his ribcage.

Looking back at the demon with an identical expression, the li-tigon fought back. Kifo could punch, but he could claw him across the face—he couldn't knock the demon's teeth out but he could _tear_ them out, digging his claws into the weak flesh that held them in place and ripping, pulling, yanking them out.

There was little finesse to the exchange of blows that took place as the twins fell down, and down, and down, and down. Things only changed with the impact of hitting the ground—an impact so immense that it rattled them both to their cores.

* * *

They both lived.

Stating that so quickly rather destroyed the intensity that the Lion Sheikh hopefully built above—but it's important to clear that up right now. Both Kifo and Freak lived that incredible drop.

Both were knocked unconscious, of course, but in their unconsciousness both of them healed—one more than the other. One of them had the power to render his body to its previous glory; the other did not.

The forest was silent for some time. Two minutes passed before one of the two fighters moved.

One warrior stood. He stood, and blinked, and looked down at his enemy.

* * *

Freak was grievously injured. He swayed and saw stars that didn't go away no matter how rapidly he blinked. The li-tigon coughed, twice, feeling hot, thick blood run down his chin and his chest—but he managed to stabilize himself.

He couldn't see well, not well at all. He couldn't even see in the visible spectrum anymore—all he could see was a general blackish haze, one that intensified as his gaze turned downward.

There was a body in front of him—a warm, living, functioning body.

Kifo.

Unexpectedly, the li-tigon felt hate so palatable he almost threw up. Barely, he held down his bile and stayed on his feet—but he couldn't let go of his rage. He didn't really try to, either—this had gone on for too long. He needed to end things.

Freak stumbled forward and fell. He managed to crawl on, though; his legs weren't quite up to working as designed yet. Legs be damned—he had to kill his enemy. The fulfillment he'd get from it… was icing on the cake.

With a trembling hand, the li-tigon raised his blade over his enemy. Then, hatefully, he plunged it down, relishing in the spurt of blood that ensued.

* * *

_That_ woke Kifo up—the demon gasped, and stared for all of a second before he rolled with speed he wasn't aware that he had. He was on his feet, surging with energy, staring at his enemy without a snarl on his face but with a simple, powerful determination to destroy him.

Odd. But he'd have to deal with it; introspection could wait—indefinitely.

He was suddenly very acutely aware of his surroundings. Every tree, every branch, every patch of earth in the northeastern forest—he knew where everything was. He knew what it was, and why, and how he could work with his surroundings to defeat his enemy.

He also knew that a direct contest of power would not be prudent.

Kifo jumped, then long but not very high—when he hit the ground, he changed direction and took cover behind a tree just as his enemy prepared for another assault. He healed not faster but more completely; the injuries coating his enemy's form were unmistakable.

Not that he was incapable of fighting—not by a longshot. Kifo almost peeked out of cover—as a result, his head was nearly blown off by a salvo of 12 gauge slugs that his enemy fired in his direction.

Freak had armed himself with a Saiga-12, it seemed; a devastating combat shotgun rather more cultured than the unwieldy revolver-shotguns Shah's gang had used. The li-tigon meant to exterminate Kifo with extreme prejudice, it seemed; he was advancing while firing intermittent bursts. The demon's responses were, for the moment, rather limited—but altogether not bad.

Kifo ran, then, diving out of cover and sprinting out of sight too quickly to be retargeted. As he moved, though, he became aware of several things—the most significant of which was the fact that his body was not his own. He was the li-tigon—and Freak was the demon.

* * *

Freak reloaded his shotgun in a deft, rough motion—now armed with forty rounds, he started to move again. Kifo was darting between trees too quickly to be readily fired upon, but sooner or later the demon would make a mistake—the, Freak would have his kill. His hand still hurt and he wasn't up to his optimal level of health yet, but Kifo could never touch him in terms of sheer power. He'd win a direct, force-on-force contest with his enemy any day of the week.

It occurred to Freak, vaguely, that he'd down a complete about face from the overwhelmingly wary, conservative manner in which he'd fought only minutes again. Now, he was fighting like his enemy had been—he was caught in a perpetual bum rush, a tactic that would have been doomed to failure if thrown at Kifo if it wasn't for Freak's impossible power. Real battle tactics were beyond him—all he could do was keep going and going and going and going.

Freak crashed into a tree as he ran, shearing a good chunk of wood off its trunk, trailing black smoke and decay in his path. He shrugged off the impact without effort—and at last, Kifo had made a mistake. He jumped into the air, hoping to take the fight to a higher altitude, but that brief second of flight took him out of cover and put him in Freak's sights.

The li-tigon slowed down and aimed, tracking his target for a millisecond before he pulled the trigger. Empty, smoking shells began to fly from the action of his shotgun, and that, like the staccato recoil pressing against his shoulder was satisfying—but not nearly as satisfying as watching the blunt shock of his report knock Kifo off course, even before the fat slugs could do any flesh damage.

Freak was certain that he'd hit the demon's hip, and that was good. If the bone broke, he wouldn't be able to move… at all, really, and it would be child's play to pump rounds into Kifo's begging, crying body until there wasn't nothing left of him but bloody mash on the ground.

Kifo landed on the tree; Freak couldn't keep shooting because he'd expended all of his ammunition. Without taking his eyes off his target, the li-tigon reloaded—but before he could snap off another shot, Kifo was invisible.

* * *

Oh, he'd been hit. He'd been hit badly, and he'd only barely been able to grab the tree he'd been leaping toward in the first place. The pain was almost mind-numbing, but now Kifo knew how to not lose himself. He knew how to control his body and mind, and, most importantly, he knew how Freak had fought.

Kifo knew that he was all too literally in the li-tigon's sights. But he also knew that he was invisible.

A second before Freak opened fire, the demon had clawed himself out of the way, pulling himself to the far side of the tree. He barely clung to the thick, protective bark even as it was blasted into little splintered bits by the li-tigon's shotgun, but he had the upper hand. He was controlling the pace of the fight.

It would take time for the gaping wounds on his flank to heal, but Kifo helped things along by applying pressure with his broad, padded paw. The bleeding slowly lessened, and the demon knew that the ball was in his court—he had to make the next move.

He turned, somewhat, clinging to the tree with only one paw. Freak, he knew, was advancing even then, looking around for any sign of movement with a fresh magazine of ammunition to let loose. Therefore, it was time to move.

Kifo was healed enough to do what he needed to do next. He pulled himself up with his forepaw and then kicked off of the tree, turning away in the process. Freak saw him move—either that, or he just decided to open fire out of the evil in his heart.

The demon felt bullets whiz past him and knew that he'd had several close calls in the interval of a second. Fortunately, he wasn't hit, and made his way into the treetops without injury.

Kifo took a step back, after that, moving several hundred yards away from his twin. He didn't need to watch the li-tigon to know that Freak was preparing for another attack in an almost paranoid manner—let him stew in his own fear and uncertainty, for a while, and then Kifo would attack.

If Freak didn't take out a grenade launcher and start to blow the forest apart, things would be alright. Kifo could continue this fight indefinitely—it wouldn't matter. What he had to wonder, though, as he took cover so deep that even his own mother would never have seen him even if she was right in front of him was who, exactly, he was. Was he Kifo, the demon, in Freak, the li-tigon? _Was_ he Freak? What had happened, and how, and why?

And if one of them won, well… who would win?

* * *

Kishindo was silent.

Her many trespasses into the Pride Lands, over the years, had enabled her with the specific know-how to avoid lions with almost instinctive ease. She knew exactly when to move, when to stay still, and when to prepare for an emergency silent kill—fortunately, that had never happened. Any unfortunate accidents in the Pride Lands would have been used as an excuse to attack; Simba's warmongering tendencies were legendary.

Now, though, Kishindo didn't have to worry about anything but the here and now. They could wage all the war he wanted; as long as she killed Simba or Kovu it would be alright.

She was now danger-close to her red-maned enemy—within a hundred yards of him. Kishindo breathed rapidly but quietly; if she had to move she would have to move fast. Simba was so close to her that the temptation to just get up and roar and attack was strong—but she had to be smart.

The lioness was hidden behind a somewhat squat tree. It wasn't ideal cover, but she didn't have any alternatives. It would do.

The sheer number of lions in Simba's Pride was stunning; the strength he commanded was more than enough to overwhelm any other force she could think of. And yet, he was just sitting around apparently _waiting_ to be attacked, instead of being proactive and going forth to create an empire of his own. Pathetic.

Simba's cowardice was at an end, though. Kishindo wasn't sure exactly what kind of a being he was playing with—not mating—but it was no lioness. It was a predator of _some_ sort, but… her light, orangish fur and green eyes… What a freak.

Whatever she was, she meant something to Simba. And that was all that mattered. Kishindo would take advantage of his idiotic compassion and force him into a one-on-one fight. And that would be the end of him.

She had to move painstakingly slow, now, to get within fifty yards of her enemy. Everything she did mattered—she couldn't blink for several seconds out of the fear that Simba would hear it. His ears had turned to face somewhat behind him… but it looked like he hadn't realized what was going on.

He said something, then, and despite the attention Kishindo was paying she didn't hear it. Presumably, he told the small female—perhaps his half-breed daughter? Who knew?—to run along.

She did run along, trotting happily away from the lion… directly in front of Kishindo. Now was her time.

With the intensity of years of pent-up aggression and anger, the lioness struck. At first, it seemed like the tan grasses that she'd been hiding in had shifted, in some inconceivable way—then her target realized what was happening, but Kochai didn't have a chance to scream, much less fight back. Kishindo was too vengeful.

* * *

True madness was something Freak had experienced exactly once in his life. When Vitani had died… he'd been swarmed by carnivorous plants. He'd lost his mind on them, exterminating them more efficiently than Weed-B-Gone. Never before, though, had the li-tigon really felt pure, black, hot rage.

Conveniently, Freak had forgotten much of what had happened that night. If he hadn't, he might have turned out to be a very different being. After all, that feeling, that hate, that power… it was intoxicating.

Now the li-tigon was trapped in an abyss that he could not easily escape. Every shot he fired, every vicious thought he had made something inside him speak up in protest, but it wasn't enough. It was never enough. He could barely guide the actions of his body; he couldn't restrain himself.

At once, it seemed, Kifo had disappeared. Freak tried to prevent himself from considering his next best move, but he couldn't even control his own thoughts, it seemed. The li-tigon knew what he would have done if he was in the body that had been only his for… heh, well, only a few months.

Waiting to be attacked wasn't going to work; Kifo now was the faster, stealthier one. Leaving the forest _might_, but to Freak, that was not an option—it was simply block off in his mind as an invalid action. So, then, the li-tigon could build some kind of defense… or he could get to work on tearing the forest apart.

Guess what Freak decided to do.

It was somewhat predictable, but, in moments, the li-tigon had a grenade machinegun at his hip. The moment Kifo saw it, he knew, he'd be attacked—but he was tougher, now, and stronger. He could withstand concussive explosions as close as five yards from him. The demon, on the other hand, could not.

With that in mind, Freak pulled the trigger of his weapon and didn't let go. The trees closest to him were his first targets—the wider the radius of the circle of nothingness he intended to create around him was, the safer he'd be. Kifo needed a lack of space and time to attack without warning—by destroying all the cover near him, Freak would create both the space and time needed to launch an attack, and he'd constantly pressure Kifo into attacking.

Things couldn't continue for long, but they ended rather too quickly for Freak's tastes. He was only able to blow apart two or maybe three trees before he turned, knowing better than to keep his grenade launcher—he dropped it and brought his hands up, prepared to absorb the incoming, living projectile.

Something happened then, however, that neither Freak nor Kifo expected. They switched back.

* * *

The sudden shot of fear that spiked through the li-tigon gave away his position, and Kifo reacted to the switch back almost as quickly as he did. Freak careened toward the demon, headlong, flailing in midair for a split second before he realized where he was and what he was doing.

The demon managed to get his knife up in time to meet him twin's assault.

The pain, then, was severe. Freak had been injured in the same region, once before… on the day he was born.

But Kifo didn't merely cut across his eyelid and some of the flesh near it—he very nearly stabbed Freak's eye out, and was prevented to do so only by the li-tigon's momentum. The wound that resulted was regardless vicious—a gaping cut, at least three feet long, danced across Freak's ribs, etching a nick into each bone.

And this cut was one that would not heal. Getting shot was one thing, but getting stabbed with a demonic blade, one that trailed blackish smoke as it sliced through Freak's flesh… that's a whole 'nother ball game.

Freak accepted the pain, though. Before Kifo was finished cutting him, he'd eaten his fear again and was re-evaluating his tactics. He could have tackled the demon to the ground and left, trading the forest's long-term solvency for a chance to heal his own wound.

Instead, the li-tigon pressed his advantage. He parried Kifo's arm with one foreleg and reached around the demon's back, with the other, pulling free a large shred of skin that covered the demon's deltoid. That wasn't all, though, not by a longshot—because Freak also opened his jaws and cleanly bit Kifo's neck.

He twisted his muzzle, too, in a move that no lion had ever learned. Kifo's throat was trapped in Freak's jaws—its structure resisted the crushing pressure exerted on it for just a second before something_ broke_.

The li-tigon's next move was to pull the smashed mixture of cartilage and flesh out of his twin's neck. If that didn't kill him, it would disable him significantly enough to let the li-tigon finally put Kifo down—but he didn't get that far.

Kifo gave a strangled cry of agony, one that quickly deepened into a Hellish shriek so unsettling that Freak was completely visible to the demon for more than a few seconds. And in those few, paralyzing seconds… the demon took hold of the li-tigon's jaws.

He was on his back, and couldn't face his enemy—but he knew he had his fingers literally inside Freak's mouth. Slowly, he began to pry Freak's jaws apart, freeing his neck; the li-tigon's teeth left that unprotected mass of ruined flesh. But Kifo did not stop.

Freak tried to escape, pressing against the ground so hard that his paws dug one, then two, then _three_ inches into the soil—but Kifo was too strong. He started to feel pain, now, and absolutely failed in biting down the fear that rose in him. He really was fighting a demon, a being without a shred of mercy or decency—a sadistic sociopath with enough power to _pull his jaws in two_.

The li-tigon said something, then, something so garbled and distorted that no one would ever know what it was. He felt and heard several soft, fleshy clicks and shifts and snaps—and then an audible crack. Freak's hearing dropped off and he saw red, a knife of pain so vicious and hot that he almost fainted running through his core. Kifo had broken or dislocated one part of his jaw at least and was still pulling—did he intend to full remove the li-tigon's mandible?

Freak, by then, was almost in a cold-sweat; he'd never felt fear so mind-numbing in his life. Almost shaking in terror, the only thing preventing him from running to a hole to hide was the fact that Kifo would not let him escape—almost tauntingly, he held the li-tigon back, a little, laughing through the bloody holes in his throat. His eyes, as red and hot and dark as the blood that ran down both of their bodies, bore into Freak's.

And in those hateful eyes, the li-tigon saw how he'd win.

Freak wrenched his head to the side, again, while striking at the inside of the demon's elbow. This move was not designed to do any real damage—it succeeded, however, in its intent to free the li-tigon from his twin's terrible grasp. He felt his claw damage a taught muscle, and that gave him enough slack to squirm and then run away.

But not for very long.

Freak no longer had the will in him to completely bite back his fear; at best he was simply a translucent blur in the forest. His determination had changed from carefully controlled neutrality to justified anger; his face wore a fairly ugly expression that Kifo had a chance to see, for a second—an interval of time somehow long enough to allow the li-tigon's jaw to fix itself.

The demon didn't have more than a few milliseconds to get to his feet, but he managed it. He was just fast enough to take Freak's shoulder to his abdomen and not his face, a blow powerful enough to knock the wind out of him even as he was carried forward with rapidly increasing speed.

Kifo recovered, however, and lifted his knife, allowing the li-tigon to keep running. He was on the verge of stabbing downward at the cat's unprotected spine, inducing either severe nerve damage or outright paralysis. Freak was too quick, however, in driving the demon into a tree.

They struck with such force that his abdomen—taught with muscle so thick and hard that it would take a powerful circular saw to cut through them—was compressed down to inches in width. Internal contusions and bleeding made Kifo's eyes physically bulge out, but Freak wasn't done.

The li-tigon used his claws, next, to shred the demon's pulverized flesh. He struck up, right, down, then jumped to dodge a hasty icepick knife strike and ran again.

As Freak again disappeared into the forest, Kifo got to his feet, screaming that his opponent was a coward. It did him no good, though—but perhaps remaining with his back to the tree would.

The demon's fur was frazzled and bloodied by then, but what was really shocking was the fact that the raw hate in Kifo's eyes was no longer matched by the power behind them. This fight had continued for too long, and the demon, who had never done any intense endurance training, was reaching the fringes of his ability to keep going.

He flexed his forearms, though, and knew that Freak was still a long, long way from ending his existence.

The li-tigon's determination and bravery, however, made the next minutes a blur of pain and hopeless rage for Kifo. Although the demon struck back with every fiber of his being, he could feel himself slowly slipping away. His body was battered about and bruised—his blood no longer evaporated into caustic gas seconds after being spilled. Now, it flowed and coagulated as if it was human in nature, not demonic.

Kifo could scarcely lift a hand in defense after twenty minutes of repeated, brutal pounding. He was sure that he'd shot or cut the li-tigon at least once or twice in the ordeal, but nothing seemed to slow Freak down.

In the end, the demon was yelling, trying to scare Freak off simply by being as loud as possible—it did not work. Before his collapsed, broken form, Freak stared… and, slowly, began to march forward.

Kifo was shaking in a combination of fatigue, anger, and what he finally recognized as real fear. There was nothing unnatural or demonic about his emotions—he was terrified and fighting for his life. A collapsed, formless heap on the ground, the demon was hyperventilating and bleeding and incapable of running.

But he was still armed.

In the end, he lifted his blade—a weapon too heavy for his bony, sinewy hands—but dropped it and simply cried, clawing at the ground to try to escape the terrible beast approaching him. Blood blocked much of his vision, but somehow, as he continued his pathetic attempt to escape, Kifo became aware—

That he was neither more nor less than a human.

* * *

(Next chapter will be up sooner or later. We're coming to the end…)


	28. BaW IV: The Breaking Point

The Lion King: The Freak

Chapter 28: Battles and Wars IV: The Breaking Point

* * *

(Q:How much does a polar bear weight?

A: Enough to break the ice. Hi, I'm the Lion Sheikh. Enjoy the chapter, and use the aforementioned pickup line anytime you need to. It's worked well for me.)

* * *

She had her prey—or, more accurately, her hostage. The strange, young feline in Kishindo's jaws was very alive, just unconscious—she couldn't take that sharp whack the lioness gave the back of her head. Without even whimpering, Kochai was out cold and defenseless.

Kishindo had her time to shine at last.

With a scream of mirth and aggression so wild that it hurt her throat, the lioness rose from the acres of tall, tanned grass that concealed her. Her sharp, grizzled features had changed, over the past months, but there was still no mistaking the hateful lioness's face.

Imagine, now, the shock Simba experienced. Then, imagine the satisfaction Kishindo got as she watched that cold wave of confused terror wash over the lion as he recognized what was going on—and who was responsible for it.

The red-maned lion's emotions were briefly replaced, though, with at least the pretense of calm comprehension and steeled anger. He turned toward Kishindo and hunched up his shoulders to make himself look as big and threatening as possible, ready to fight.

"Zira," he said coldly. "You survived."

"You sound surprised," Kishindo replied, snickering malevolently as allies and family flocked to Simba's side. Careful to not betray her intentions by looking over them too obviously, the lioness saw that her son was nowhere to be seen.

She began to walk backward, slowly, claws still extended and at her hostage's neck. Her foes began to move forward as well, but Kishindo warned them not to try to flank her by growling once, curtly, when an unfamiliar hyena at her ten o'clock position took one step in the wrong direction.

"What do you want?" Simba asked. He didn't dare take his eyes off Kishindo for a second; hopefully, everyone would know better than to try anything with her. They were fast and powerful warriors, but Kishindo was no pushover. Any hostage-rescue mission at this stage would end in disaster. "Just leave her and get out of here… and you won't be harmed."

"You're not in a position to make any demands, you fool," Kishindo snarled—at that, Simba palatably flinched and stopped in his tracks, watching as a trickle of blood began to make its way through Kochai's fur.

He turned, briefly, and glanced at Kiara with a questioning expression—where was Kovu? Everyone else was there at his side, but Kovu… where was he?

Kishindo was in charge; this was shown not only by the manner in which everyone was focused on her but by the manner in which she guided their actions without letting them know about it. No one in the group had mastered situational awareness to the degree that Freak had—they weren't anywhere near as smart as he was, and they never would be.

"What do you want?" Simba asked curtly. He spoke in a halting manner that told Kishindo that he was trying to think a way out of his situation, but it was alright. She'd considered everything she had to.

"I want you and my cute little son," the lioness said. "Dead, if you couldn't already guess." The malevolent, pleased gleam in her eye was a direct result of the slight jolt she saw in the lion's.

"I can't bargain with you like this," Simba said. "It's against our laws… I'm no longer the alpha of this pride."

Now, that took Kishindo off-guard, but it changed nothing. She simply snarled, and trailed her claws through the kitten's cheek. That vicious act made the fur on several Pride Landers' necks stand on end; clearly, the young female was very important to all of them. Maybe she was a false God of theirs or something—who knew?

"So who's your new cult-leader? Kovu?" Kishindo asked bluntly. "I should have trusted my instincts and killed that thing when he was freshly born."

"It's not Kovu," said a Methuselah of lion with a wild mane and slim build. "It's… someone whose mother tried to kill him when he was freshly born."

"Enough," Kishindo hissed, cutting short the few transient smiles that echoed through the group. "Kovu's not here—no matter. Simba, you're coming with me; if any of the rest of you take another step… Lolita gets it."

She let the threat hang, for a moment, before starting to move again. "I mean it," she added, quietly, almost tempting the horde to budge, to lean forward to hear her. "Don't move a muscle."

Simba looked around—that was all it took. The Pride Landers scarcely batted an eyelid as their ex-leader—supposedly—began to follow Kishindo, never getting closer than twenty yards.

Slowly, the two lions and little Kochai disappeared over the horizon, and Tanga suggested that they resume their posts and pray for the best. Hopefully, Simba would find a way to kill Zira and save Kochai, and hopefully, they wouldn't need his leadership while they remained vigilant at the border, keeping any evil out with the full force of their willpower and their physical beings.

Kiara closed her eyes, briefly. Kovu was out hunting, hopefully on his way back he'd pick up his mother's scent and guess what had happened. If he messed up in the slightest, though, Kochai would die. Maybe it was just better to hope that he noticed nothing.

* * *

"Gonna kill me?"

Those three words echoed around in Freak's head as he stood over his downed enemy, bleeding heavily and exhausted. His healing factor had burned out by the end of the fight; now, he was on his own. The li-tigon hurt more than he ever had in his life, but Kifo couldn't be much better. A hundred cuts were visible on his pale, limp form. Their depth into his flesh was proportional to how deeply Freak had slashed into him when he'd been eight feet taller rather than six; when he'd been six hundred pounds rather than a hundred and fifty.

The li-tigon's face was carefully neutral, but the manner in which he held his paw, claws extended, over his twin's face was most decidedly not. Kifo breathed heavily, struggling to look up at his foe—he was not successful; he was too weak. He coughed, once, so that a wide swath of blood dyed his neck and chest red.

"If you're gonna do it, you better do it fast. I'm gonna heal soon enough, and when I do, you'll be sorry you were ever born," Kifo growled, still defiant, still threatening, still millimeters from death—literally. Freak had set the points of his claws against the human's neck.

The li-tigon knew what he ought to do; he knew that if he failed to do it it might very well be that Kifo got up off the ground, regained his strength and form and arms and killed him. For his part, Freak wasn't exactly doing very well—if the fight was going to end in a manner of his choosing, it would have to end soon.

He now knew why he had never been able to conceive of himself killing his twin—it was something that he simply could not do. He could beat Kifo into a bloodied heap on the ground and he could take that weak, defenseless neck into his paw—but he couldn't perform the last, slight twitch required to separate the demon from existence.

Kifo's breathing had calmed; his chest slowly rose and fell, pumping oxygen and power through his form. Like scabs, blackish patches of scales and fur began to cover his skin; muscle inflated his body rapidly. But Freak still couldn't kill him, even when he began to laugh, holding his knife with a gradually steadying hand.

The li-tigon's mind raced, but he couldn't think of a way out of this one. He couldn't kill Kifo, but he couldn't allow the fight to continue—and yet, the more he delayed, the more likely it became that Kifo's weak attempts to get to his feet would succeed.

Now, the demon had the approximate build of a professional martial artist, and things weren't slowing down in the slightest. Slightly hampered by Freak's paw, rapidly shrinking in proportion to his own size, he began to laugh at his twin's cowardice and inability to kill.

The li-tigon closed his eyes for a second, looked away, then hissed—that shut Kifo up long enough to allow the demon to hear what he said next.

"Brother, you've done wrong. This is enough." With that final word, he released the demon… and then struck him across the face hard enough to throw Kifo to the ground, blasting every non-human part of him off, into the dust—except for his knife.

Kifo very nearly blacked out… but he managed to stagger to his feet a moment later, nothing more than a human with a knife and an armored set of pants several sizes too big for him. Looking at his arms, boney and frail with scarcely a sliver of flesh on them, Kifo became so furious that he couldn't see and simply screamed, red-faced—and in a final display of defiance and outrage, he rushed toward his enemy.

Freak simply stood, as strong and insurmountable as Pride Rock itself and stared into Kifo's eyes with all the intensity of his determination to end the threat he posed. The human kept running, for a moment—then he tripped, fell, and came to an unconscious stop inches from the li-tigon's feet.

Face inscrutable, Freak looked down at his twin, his enemy, his brother, the demon, the human Kifo. He could no longer harm anything or anyone in the Pride Lands… so what was Freak's next move?

* * *

Kishindo led Simba far from the northwestern frontiers of the Pride Lands. Although the red-maned lion had over an hour to figure out what was going on, he couldn't tell what the lioness had in mind—was she going to take him on a tour of the Outlands to show him the wretched poverty he'd forced her and her followers to live in? That seemed unlikely. If those were Kishindo's plans, she'd have been monologue the entire walk.

But she hadn't said a word.

Perhaps, like Simba, she knew that the more she said the more likely she was to give away something that she would do better not to. Or perhaps she was just savoring being in control of things for a chance in silence. The lion didn't know, and that was his problem in the first place.

Kochai had been well and truly knocked out, but Simba knew that she was still very alive. This hostage situation was different from the one Simba had already been in despite superficial similarities—Freak had taken a hostage to survive. Kishindo had taken a hostage, it seemed, to get Simba to kill himself or something. Her next actions were not predictable.

They were in the Outlands, by then, but only by a few hundred yards. The disparity between that territory and Simba's home was dichotomic, and he would have felt guilty for condemning even Zira to an existence in it if she wasn't holding Kochai's life in her paws, literally.

"So tell me, Zira," Simba said, finally, "what have you been doing ever since you half-drowned… what was it, eight months ago?"

"I've been doing," she replied curtly, "many things, unlike you. Now, be quiet. We're almost there."

"Where's 'there'?" Simba wanted to ask, but he knew not to push the lioness too much. His expression simply darkened as he realized—they were coming to what looked like a large lake with a placid yet ominous surface.

What was Kishindo doing; what did she mean by walking toward an outcropping of rock looking over the green, murky body of water? Surely, she didn't intend to pitch Kochai in?... although, if she did, that would be very good for Simba. The shock of plunging into water would wake the kitten up, and she'd have no trouble in swimming to shore even if she was still seeing stars from the blow she'd taken.

With that in mind, Simba forced his breath to quicken, slightly, after giving a very convincing rendition of a cut-short gasp. He couldn't read Kishindo's body language well enough to know whether or not his trick had worked, but he'd have to hope for the best.

Then he took note of a fact that threw a major wrench into his plans. The lake was still and seemingly lifeless because the larger, more active aquatic life-forms that dominated most other bodies of water in that part of the Land of the Spirits were prevented from existing by a very active population of crocodiles.

"Don't you dare," Simba said suddenly, finally realizing what Kishindo was about to do. "Zira, I'm begging you—leave her out of this. She's a harmless child."

The lioness laughed, once, long and shrill—but she didn't throw Kochai over. That was the one thing that kept Simba on a hair-trigger; the one thing that kept him from going over and crushing the vicious female into a pulp.

"I told you not to bring anyone else," Kishindo said. And, just like that, as Simba watched, she set Kochai's limp, unconscious form down on the rock… and then, briefly, shoved her off.

Simba watched as the cruel lioness laughed, even as he lunged forward, to save Kochai—something happened then, however, that he did not anticipate.

"Simba, take her! I'll get Kochai."

Kovu said that, and the red-maned lion looked just in time to see the dark male feint, distracting his mother from an unexpected angle before diving out of view, hitting the water almost exactly as the tigress kitten did. Simba gritted his teeth and focused his attention, entirely, on Kishindo—she'd adopted a fighting stance that he was unfamiliar with, he realized, and coursing with malice so pure that he smelled it in the air.

This would not be an easy fight, he realized, and that was without him having to ignore Kovu and Kochai's plight in order to prevail.

* * *

It was time to rock and roll.

The Black Army's Master used that exact wording when he mobilized his troops, bringing them out of a trance-like state into dynamic, rapid motion. Not requiring a second to acclimate themselves to consciousness, they began to run.

Although they weren't stealthy by any reasonable standard, the Black Army moved with a sort of precision and care that it rarely employed. Instead of mowing down foliage with their rifles to announce their presence and clear their path, they didn't fire a single round and ran around large elements of the environment instead of through them.

Shah was leading the band of killers, of course; armed significantly more heavily than they were and greater in size and power as well, the rest of the Black Army formed up in a rough phalanx around them, trailing soot and decay wherever they were.

They left the Jungle in minutes, and, shortly, were all but sprinting across the narrow, somewhat deadened buffer zone between it and the Pride Lands. Their Master urged them to hurry up, because the brief interval that he'd cleared for them to enter without detection would be over in a second—

They made it. All of them. Despite the powerful protections Simba, Rafiki, and Roderik had placed on the Pride Lands, they'd made it, and that fact made their Master smirk in twisted pleasure and satisfaction. He lost a great deal of control over his shock troops, but it didn't matter—they knew their mission, and they knew what their rewards would be when they completed it.

The Black Army collectively paused, stumbling, as they regained significant control of their bodies for the first time since they'd died. Their Master looked on, for a minute, before taking his attention elsewhere, to another meeting with his more autonomous servants and another campaign he was preparing to fight. The Black Army fighters shared very little between them—not race, not gender, not language—but they shared devotion to him, prowess in combat, and the deep, dark desire to finish off who had been a thorn in their Master's side for far, far too long.

They'd been shown, and had resultantly memorized, blurred, sketchy images of the freak warrior dating from his birth to his exile, and even some rare, smuggled footage of his adventures in the subcontinent. They knew what he looked like, what he fought like, and they even had a good handle on what he thought like—and they knew that between them, they had more than enough power to cleanly wipe him off the face of the map and then exfiltrate before the Pride Landers could swoop in and take them down.

As the Black Army fighters paused, briefly, enjoying the simple pleasures of controlling their hands, and the firearms attached to them, Shah remained the exception, looking to the northeast. He couldn't see their target, but, he knew, the freak was out there. Out there, and weakened from his fight with Kifo… or vice versa. It didn't matter. The survivor of the battle had to be wiped out.

"We're going to do this quickly," Shah said, turning around to address his subordinates. "Quickly, and cleanly. I don't want the fighting to take ten minutes—we have to be gone in fifteen. We're just going to run up, pump the mark's body full of bullets until he's nothing more than shredded flesh and blood on the ground—and then we're going to go. Understand? Samja?"

Perhaps not all of the fighters had an excellent grasp on English, especially not the accented variant that Shah spoke. They got the gist of it well enough, though, and collectively nodded—the Black leader nodded back, and turned again.

"I feel… like I did when I saw my brother the last time. There may be something going on that I have not prepared for…" He paused, briefly, recalling that his last oversight had resulted in him being blasted molecule from molecule.

Shah shook his head; this was no time to stop and think. It was time to move. And, beginning to chant their Master's dark, unholy name, the Black Army began to run, again, toward a distant but nearing speck on the horizon…

* * *

Freak recalled that the first time he'd carried someone—Uvuli—he had known, instinctively, how to gently clutch the scruff of her neck in his teeth without injuring her. Despite having lived a life in complete solitude, a life without seeing another predator carry a child in that manner once—he'd known how to transport her without hurting her.

He didn't mean to get sentimental after such a relatively insignificant memory, but it happened regardless. The li-tigon smiled, content that he'd be able to return to Uvuli alive—not in separate, bloody pieces.

Though, of course, she might be somewhat put off by the fact that he would bring home something of a pest with him: Kifo.

The human was very unconscious and quite safe, splayed across Freak's back. Ostensibly, he would remain so for quite some time—the blow he'd been dealt and the exertion he'd undergone were more than enough to put him out for the better part of a full day. Hopefully, in that time, Rafiki and Roderik would figure out some way to help him…

Freak felt strangely sure that they would. He'd shaken Kifo to his core, literally—and now, all the human required was building up. He was, and always had been a shell of a being presumably since he was very, very young. It would take time, of course, but Kifo's case was not a lost one.

He was making his way, alone, except for his unconscious twin, across a vast expanse of open land. This was where the majority of the pride's hunting took place; though, at the moment, he detected no prey animals for quite a ways. The Sun was before him, and he walked toward it, unaware of quite how majestic he looked, carrying his fallen but not lost brother across the bare plain toward, hopefully, repentance and recovery.

The li-tigon was hopeful, very hopeful, and remained so until the first bullet was fired.

Out of sheer luck—sheer luck, not the actions of the Spirits—he was not hit. But the shot was so close that he heard as well as felt it racing past him; the conical metal projectile trailed a tornado of turbulent air that raked across the li-tigon's mane.

Getting shot at had almost become one of Freak's hobbies, of late; he knew exactly what was going on not just due to the extensive, life-saving training he'd received from Raj but due to the recent showdown with Shah and his gang, and the even more recent war with his own twin.

Hopefully, all that experience would be enough to let him fight and win against the distant, approaching band of monsters that had attacked him. Freak saw them approaching quickly from the south, and stood his ground—pausing only to set Kifo down, some dozen yards away, before watching, stoically, as he was approached.

The li-tigon was aware that despite the fight he'd just been part of, he wasn't remotely fatigued or drained—he'd been running most of the encounter on the collected energy of the Land he was protecting, adrenaline, and months of preparation. For this one, though, he'd have no advantages—just his mind and body. That was all.

And it might not be enough.

As the Black Army approached, Freak realized just how difficult of a fight he had before him. Granted, he was maned and strong and fast and brilliant—but the vicious drones that were approaching him were, on average, over six and a half feet tall with blackened marks all over their bodies, marking them as the property of their Master. Freak saw, horribly, that dehumanizing them as walking guns was very fair, because their firearms were built into their flesh. Raj would have drooled over the modern pieces of technology melded with organic being, but Freak saw them for what they were.

"You're disgusting," the li-tigon said, mostly to himself, as the Black Army slowed, still seventy five yards off. "And sad. Who are you… what are you, and who are you fighting for?... You're not like Kifo, or someone would have seen you coming…"

Or, perhaps, the Pride Landers were in an even more desperate position than they realized. Regardless, Freak's objectives did not change. These monsters, whatever they were, were a threat to him at the very least—more likely, their intentions were much, much bigger than him. They'd initiated aggressions and were still actively engaging him… they had to be destroyed.

As the bony, massive fighters got closer, Freak blinked—and leaned forward, slightly; the standard combat initiation procedures that he'd spent a lifetime perfecting running themselves automatically. He knew the relative homogeneity of the land; he knew the soil texture; he knew all environmental conditions and their variability—and he also knew that in an open theater like this, he'd have a very, very hard time not getting shot. What he didn't know was how on Earth that smell—that smell —could have found its way into the Pride Lands.

But as the Black Army got closer, Freak noted that one fighter, the vanguard, in fact, was significantly bigger than his followers. And, with paradoxically growing calm and trepidation, the li-tigon nodded—there was no mistaking that mockery of a handsome, angled face. Well, there was… but not for him. This wasn't Raj.

"Shah."

"In the flesh," the Black leader replied, finally slowing his run to a walk, some twenty yards from the li-tigon. He didn't have to tell the rest of the Army to spread out and flank; they were already doing it on their own. In an environment like this, Shah noted, with a cold sense of satisfaction, they'd gun down their enemy without even needing to aim.

"You've changed since we last met."

"Impressed?" the ex-human replied, giving his muscled frame a sort of jolt, showing off the unnatural vascularity of his build.

"That's not the word I'm looking for."

Freak had guts to talk that way to a being that looked the way Shah did. Like the rest of the Black Army, his abdomen simply did not exist—it tapered down to his spinal column, giving him the appearance of a body that had been torn apart and then reattached, sans the belly area. That wasn't all, though.

He was armed with a heavy-barreled variant of an FN MAG, a powerful, rapid-fire machinegun that could and had been used to cut living beings in half at over a hundred yards. It was melded into his right hand, yes—but he didn't have to reload, ever. A constant belt of ammunition flowed, horribly, out of an area behind his shoulder, somewhere near his deltoid. The linked rounds were somewhat bloody and darkened, so it could be inferred that, perhaps, they came directly from whatever approximation of a heart the fighter had.

"So you defeated Kifo," Shah said, slowly, maliciously reaching behind his back to draw a jagged sort of machete from a pouch within his own flesh. "That's interesting. You don't look very damaged—was it easy?"

Freak didn't answer. Instead, he looked to his left, then his right, quite aware of how impossibly fast he'd have to move to avoid being torn apart by a torrent of gunfire. He was going to be injured, he knew, and there was nothing he could do to prevent that. He could win—probably—but preventing himself from getting shot to death or at least to the point that he'd bleed out in a desperate struggle to get help… he didn't know if he could do that.

The li-tigon realized that he was adopting a defeatist attitude, and gritted his teeth the slightest amount. His mind drifted, for an instant, to the vicious fights he'd got into before he was old enough to realize that there existed a world outside of the Jungle. The Black Army was going to be hard to fight, but he'd taken on stauncher opposition before. These half-dead drones were just another threat.

"I wonder," Shah continued, taking care to check the chamber of his machinegun—of his arm—and level it, outstretched, at the feline, "when I kill you, what will happen? There is a Heaven and Hell, to be sure, but only people can go to them. Maybe you'll just end, you fucking freak."

Years had passed, as well as any number of skin-thickening experiences. But Freak couldn't help but wince, the slightest amount, as he was reminded of his unnatural nature. He didn't dwell on it for long, though—he focused on his friends, and his desire to see them again.

And Kifo. And his desire to heal him—somehow.

It was unclear who moved first, but it really didn't matter. Freak leaped forward and Shah opened fire, or Shah opened fire and Freak leaped forward. A vicious, constant line of machinegun fire tracked the li-tigon as he rose into the air, but Freak was fast—and Shah wasn't a great shot. Tracers were launched into the air, coming, at best, within several feet of their target, and by the time Freak was getting close enough that even Shah couldn't miss, he was close enough to strike.

Annoyingly, Freak had had to jump fairly high to dodge the heavy .308 bullets that were launched in his direction; he couldn't bring Shah to the ground. What he could do, however, was lightly strike with his forepaws—left, then right—then, after mostly sailing over the Black leader's head, strike out with his hind legs, knocking Shah forward rapidly enough to make him stumble and fall.

Then, the rest of the Black Army opened up.

Freak hit the ground with only two bullets in him; neither of them more than a pinprick against his nearly six hundred pound body. He noticed that he'd been hit, to be sure, but he simply had bigger concerns than the two bullets in him.

On either side, Shah was flanked by a half dozen of his Master's finest: marvelous specimens of human prowess and strength in life, they were now simply terrifying in post-life. With spiked bits of bone extending from their bodies in random locations, they looked painful to touch—and that was without the burned, blackened scabs that covered their skin

They weren't that scary, though, Freak thought with a grim sense of determination as he killed his momentum and flipped over, feeling several torrents of gunfire slice through the space that he'd occupied a second before—they could be defeated. They were too angry and clumsy and overpowered to control themselves; Freak would be able to beat them if he was quick and careful and didn't give them a chance to get used to how he fought.

With that in mind, the li-tigon dodged to one side, knowing that it would be at least a few seconds before Shah was able to pick himself off the ground and fight back. In that time, somebody was gonna get a-hurt real bad.

Freak sidestepped, once, before lowering his shoulder and racing forward. He sprinted forward in a simple charge, taking advantage of the fact that each Black fighter's transformation had left them muscled, yes, but with little real mass. Within a meter of his first target, he jumped again, slightly, wrapping one foreleg around the ex-human's waist and running one three legs.

The li-tigon tucked his head to the side and barreled through the rest of the Black Army on the side he'd targeted, knocking them out of the way with stunning ease. He felt several bones break, and knew that he'd done well.

Freak had little time before the other half of the Black Army would begin to fire arm, deciding to shoot through their pinned comrade to get at him—but it would have to be enough. Digging his claws into the former human's back, just next to his spine, he pulled, almost hard enough to rip the fighter's entire backbone out.

As a result, Freak was straddling his enemy, having thrown him to the ground. Before the rest of the Army could react to what he'd done, he'd torn up the grounded fighter's chest, and quickly, brutally finished him off by reaching through the shattered, weakened bones of his chest and ripped out a few purplish organs with his jaws.

He was a second too slow, though—because then, Shah and the rest of the Army managed to knock him off his enemy by drilling him with a painful burst to the upper chest.

The li-tigon gasped but that didn't slow his escape; he dived forward and left his enemy to writhe, briefly, before falling still in bloody death. His paws were blackened and burning, but he ignored it—he had to take out the rest of the Army.

This was a job made easy by simply running in a manner that put the large, struggling fighters that he'd downed but not killed between himself and the active gunmen of the Black Army. Clearly, they had learned very little about the danger of so-called friendly fire, or they had unconsciously relied on their Master to treat them as a single unit even then—because, in a moment, Freak's enemies' numbers had been halved.

With a unwontedly cocky smile on his face, the li-tigon continued to move, ignoring the pain in his chest. He could do this.

* * *

By the time Kovu was in the water, Kochai had been under for several seconds and was the object of several large crocodiles' hunger. What would make things difficult, at least, was the fact that the kitten had not been jolted to her senses—Kishindo had struck her so hard that even the basic reflexes that would have brought her back had been put out of commission.

She was alive, though. And that's what made Kovu forget about his own safety and dive.

A cabal of the loathsome reptilians had been swimming underwater, idly, when Kochai was thrown almost directly into their midst. After a second of surprise, they broke formation and lazily made their way toward the sinking but fresh meal, slitted eyes glittering with primal hate.

Kovu was no great swimmer, but he did what he could. He managed—barely—to throw himself between the first bite and Kochai's hapless form.

Getting bitten by an aquatic predator that could have taken him at extreme close range on land was no joke. Kovu gritted his teeth as he felt a dozen of the crocodile's misaligned, yellowed teeth pop through his fur, entering his flesh—the damage wasn't serious, though, because he'd been smart and taken the bite in such a way that the crocodile couldn't roll or otherwise rip his foreleg off.

It thrashed around a little, of course, but Kovu was too big to be manhandled. With that in mind, he reached back, into the gullet of the crocodile itself, extended his claws, and tore a long, debilitating gash across the roof of the monster's mouth. Furious red blood twisted into the lake, and the beast let go—without waiting a second to see if it would come back, Kovu went for Kochai.

She'd touched the bottom of the lake for the first time, bouncing, slightly, with the normal force suddenly applied to her feet, when Kovu was on her, swimming quickly. She still wasn't waking up, and that was bad. Going comatose underwater was a good way to end up brain dead—or just dead.

The dark lion had almost reached Kochai when another crocodile struck him from above, and this time, Kovu hadn't been prepared. The only thing that prevented his head from being enveloped in those vicious, powerful jaws was his mane. The thick, protective fur took the brunt of the bite, but Kovu was still yanked off course; he was still delayed, and that was the one thing that neither he nor Kochai could afford.

Kovu was running out of air and fighting in an environment that he had scarcely even entered in his life, and Kochai still wasn't waking up. Even if Simba was winning the fight against Kishindo, it was likely that both the dark lion and the tigress would be seriously injured or worse.

* * *

To avoid being charged again, the Black Army spread out into a rough double-layered firing squad. Those at front knelt, firing from the hip and those behind them stayed on their feet, spraying gunfire from outstretched "hands" or from the shoulder.

Attacking such a formation with a frontal rush would be suicidal; Freak had to change tactics. He adjusted his course and dived to the side, rolling, flinching as a slew of bullets ate up the air just next to him.

At least the ground was conducive to quick changes in velocity. Unlike the Pride Lands' northwest, where loose sandy dominated, there was grass here, and the soil was wet and thick and Freak could get his claws into it.

Divots were blown out of that moist, dense soil, inches from Freak's position. The li-tigon ignored it, though—he had to be constantly on the offensive to win this fight.

As he ran, Freak strafed, crossing his paws in a manner that would have tripped almost anyone else. He moved around the Black Army almost as if he was circling them; in fact, he was looking for a weak point to exploit and he estimated that the rear of the group would be easy to attack.

What the li-tigon had not considered was how strong and fast Shah was once sufficiently pissed off.

Freak saw a blur and tried to dodge, but there was no time. The Black leader was on him before he could so much as raise a paw in defiance. The li-tigon could do nothing to prevent Shah from striking him, then, across the jaw, with enough force to launch him into the air.

He tasted blood but recovered quickly, tossing his hindquarters to one side so that he would land on his feet. Shah tried to raise his machinegun to fire, standing perpendicular to the li-tigon—but Freak was too fast. He was injured, sure, but not in such a way that he was prevented from moving and fighting.

To be sure, the li-tigon's offensive capabilities were largely decreased. He wouldn't have time to fix his jaw; he'd have to accept the fact that it was dislocated for now. His claws and paws were just as good of weapons, and Freak could make do with them. He'd have to.

Shah was nearly able to shoot him, but now that Freak was locked onto the Black leader, he was faster. The li-tigon dodged to the side, and, in a heartbeat, was within yards of the machine-gunner, close enough to strike.

Instead of pinning him down and going for the kill, immediately, Freak noted that Shah had taken one of his weapons. He was only reciprocating.

The heat and roar of the thirty-cal was intense, particularly when the li-tigon's head drifted just next to its muzzle—spent casings struck and bounced off his form, leaving behind slightly singed patches of fur. Freak jumped up, slightly, reaching out a precisely the right moment, not to strike or claw Shah—but instead, to get the upper half of his foreleg between the Black leader's flesh and the belt of ammunition emanating from within.

Once Freak felt his paw enter that slight crevice, he turned, arcing his paw forward. Effectively and literally, Shah's ammunition supply was cut short as the belt was severed, causing several rounds to come free, spinning in lazy circles through the air as they fell.

Apparently, the ex-human weapons were as much a part of his body as his own blood. Shah screamed, then, even as he tried to reach around with his lithe, boney hand to try to slip the belt of ammunition back into his machinegun—Freak ignored him again, and took advantage of the fact that the rest of the Black Army had had to cease fire while their leader attacked unilaterally.

The li-tigon charged them directly, knowing that they wouldn't dare to fire when their bullets might go past or through him to strike Shah. They saw this quickly, however, and began to disperse to take him from the sides, pressing the triggers of their rifles and not letting go when their leader was out of danger.

Freak knew that he would have a difficult time beating the Black Army if he allowed them to split up and move around, fighting as autonomous units—he'd have to herd them together to take them down, otherwise they'd just sacrifice one of their own and gun him down from long range.

With that in mind, the li-tigon moved quickly to circle around the Black fighters that had peeled right, running too fast to be hit. He feinted, repeatedly, playing a very dangerous game—the more he ran around without actually attacking, the more likely the Black Army was to get lucky and put a bullet in a place that he'd really feel.

Freak maintained that tactic for a moment, however, until the Black fighters that he was harassing had unconsciously fallen back, close enough to one another that he could attack with decreased risk and some guarantee of success.

The li-tigon dived low, then, taking out the ex-humans' legs. They broke like toothpicks against his might, shattered beyond all reasonable hopes of repair—at least, they would have been if they couldn't bind themselves together and heal in moments.

At least Freak had a few seconds to kill them, or try to, while the rest of the Army tried to pick a shot on him without damaging their comrades.

The li-tigon truly felt the lack of a working pair of jaws, then; he was unable to yank firearms or heads off the Black Army nearly as effectively as he'd have liked to. His alternative wasn't idea, but still fairly beneficial—Freak sliced through the connective tissue at one fighter's elbow with a vicious three-claw strike, grabbed his MG36 in his paw and pushed forward, pressing against the fighter's chin.

As a result, that fighter lost his entire forearm and his weapon along with it before Freak was forced to jump away as another downed fighter began to shoot, screaming something in a North Germanic language that the li-tigon did not understand. He briefly considered taking out that fighter, as well, but moved on to the task of rounding up the other half of the Black Army, leaving Shah helpless save for the five rounds he still had belted into his machinegun.

The Black fighters seemed to realize what he was doing; rather than backpedalling in response to his vicious faux-assaults, they stood their ground and fired at him from close range. Freak took a bullet to the bicep—and that made him realize he needed to switch things up a little.

How he would do that seemed obvious, once the li-tigon realized that Shah was still swearing loudly and trying to reload his weapon. The Black leader had gotten a finger on a link of ammunition and was actually starting to pull when Freak attacked.

Five thirty caliber rounds are no laughing matter, but Shah didn't have the cool-headed marksmanship skills needed to bring the powerful cat down on demand. In the pretense of calm, he raised his weapon to his shoulder and fired five single shots—but it was useless. Freak had him again.

As the li-tigon carried him toward his subordinates, Shah had an idea, this time, of how to retaliate. His left hand, once a working appendage, solidified into a pointed, conical sort of stabbing implement. Made with hate, he plunged into his attacker over and over and over again, swearing as the tip of the blade grazed off of Freak's thick fur and muscle and flesh—then, though, Shah found a weak spot and sunk his spear, his hand, deep into the li-tigon's back.

His response was a cry of pain, but even as Shah ground that vicious blade around he did not feel himself slow down. Freak didn't stop, didn't throw his enemy away—he just gritted his teeth and snarled and kept running.

For once, it was Shah's turn to feel a helpless mix of fear, outrage, and confusion. He shouted out, "What are you?" and tried again to get the li-tigon to release him. "What kind of a freak are you?"

The answer, it seemed, was the kind that would beat the Black Army without assistance of any kind.

Freak selected his second target, then, and tackled a North African Black fighter with Shah on his shoulder. The three of them fell down, together, but the li-tigon muscle his way to the top and managed to take out a chunk of flesh at the African's neck—not quite killing him, but severely injuring him at least.

Shah still had his hand in the li-tigon, but Freak ignored it for the moment and struck the Black leader's chest, twice—hard. He felt something give, and knew that he'd cracked or broken Shah's ribs. For now, that was good enough.

The ex-human cursed him as a coward for not finishing the job then and there, but in his life, the li-tigon had been called far, far worse. He left Shah severely injured and pinned under his even worse-off comrade—both of them were alive, but, hopefully, that would not be true for much longer.

* * *

Simba had to hand it to Kishindo—she fought like a lioness half her age, but retained all the ferocity of a female that had done nothing but accumulated rage and hate for the better part of a lifetime. She was fast and seemed to think things out several moves ahead of him; the red-maned lion struggled to defend himself, incapable of mounting an offensive that lasted longer than a swipe or two.

Quickly, the fight moved away from the cliff edge; Simba was too busy trying to keep up to ask himself why. His snarling, merciless adversary was forcing him into the wide-open plains that covered much of the Pride Lands' most fertile areas—although he didn't know it, she was doing it simply to clinch her victory. Without any significant environmental elements to turn to in absolute desperation, Kishindo was eliminating the variable of luck, one that had never fallen in her favor. This battle would be a simple contest of skills; Simba would not be able to prevail.

For a second, Kishindo fell back, tensing her muscles and circling somewhat, quickly checking herself and her foe for injuries. She was all right—he was too, but he was breathing decidedly more heavily than she was. After allowing the lull to go on just long enough to make Simba unconsciously lower his guard the slightest amount, Kishindo attacked on what her footwork had said was an off beat—unprepared for the sudden assault, Simba had to take a palatable step back.

"You're PATHETIC," she shrieked, chaining up a series of alternating claw-strikes that left a jagged, bloody cut across the unprotected flesh on Simba's muzzle. "Miserable. How you defeated Scar, I'll never know. It doesn't matter—when I'm finished with you, all anyone will ever say of you is that you made a big mistake the day you decided to oppose me."

The former Lion King did not reply. He knew better than to let Kishindo's words get to him; besides, when she was monologuing he saw how he might defeat her speed and agility—with a move he'd seen Freak implement several times to stunning effect. The lioness was quick to dodge and parry, but some brute-force maneuvers she could not evade.

Simba darted forward at the precise second that Kishindo was in the middle of a prolonged attack—he took the brunt of her painful and not insignificant blows to the toughest parts of his body while he smashed his tough skull into hers. Instead of striking through Kishindo, he stopped, abruptly, transferring every Newton-meter of momentum he'd held to her. And, since the lioness weighed a lot less than he did, there was nothing she could do to prevent herself from going flying.

Mentally, the red-maned lion thanked his cousin, holding his position before slowly standing in a calm, assertive stance, head canted at his enemy—Kishindo looked at him, outraged and confused and concerned all at once, and Simba had known that he'd imitated Freak nearly to a tee. But there was one more thing that he had to do…

"Are you threatening me?" he asked, seriously. "Don't threaten me. I'll kill you. I can do it, and I will do it. Don't threaten me." He said all that in a flat, monotone voice—or at least, to the best of his ability. By the end of his brief tribute to the li-tigon, Simba was snickering at the throbbing veins visible all over Kishindo's bloodied face. He'd dealt a palatable blow, and perhaps he'd done a little something for his morale as well.

The lioness said something then far less creative and entertaining to dream up in response. Simba's ears flattened and he winced, but he didn't say anything else. He'd had his fun; now it was time to get his head back into the game and fight to win. Kochai and Kovu's struggle was still far from decided, and, if possible, Simba wanted to give them a hand—and to do that, he'd need to defeat the snarling, foamy-at-the-mouth lioness before him.

* * *

Kovu broke free of the three or four crocodiles attacking him. But not without serious injury.

He hadn't killed or even significantly hurt any of the vicious reptiles—he'd just gotten them to back off long enough for him to grab a breath of air at the surface and then dive. The dark lion couldn't see well, because blood—his blood—mixed with sediment and swirled around in the water, becoming a dirty dark brown cloud that was difficult to visually penetrate.

He knew where Kochai was, though, because he'd taken note of the exact formation of the lakebed around her when he'd been able to see her. Image his horror, then, when he came to that exact spot… and did not find the kitten.

Desperately, Kovu searched—he knew it wouldn't be long before the leviathans sharing the lake with him got brave again and attacked. He was running out of time, but Kochai's plight was far, far more desperate…

He saw her, then, in the worst position imaginable.

Moments before, Kochai had been held in the mouth of a lioness. Now, she was held in the mouth of a crocodile.

It was almost like the beast was savoring her, or the fear it saw in Kovu when it drifted by some thirty yards away, lazily clutching his small morsel with an almost taunting glare in its cold, merciless eye. Whatever it was, it made the dark lion roar a hot stream of angry bubbles and propel himself forward—he had to save Kochai, injuries and risks be damned.

Kovu's actions really were selfless. He did not know how vital it was that Kochai lived—all he was doing was attempting to save her without any ulterior motives at heart. Though he hadn't known the young tigress for very long, he had come to love her, as had every other lion in the Pride.

The crocodiles attacked again, but this time, he was ready for them. He knew their weak points and he knew how to minimize the injuries their crushing bites inflicted—he tucked his limbs in when they attacked and waited until they bared the ribbed scales covering their underbellies to him. Then, he lashed out with deep, cutting claws, gouging out non-trivial amounts of tissue in the process.

Fighting back in such a manner was quite effective, it seemed, and Kovu was out of danger after just a few seconds of struggling. Unfortunately, in the process, he'd lost Kochai.

The lone reptile that had taken her was nowhere to be seen, and the dark lion very nearly panicked as, in desperation, he made his way to the vector the crocodile had seemingly traveled along. He followed a weakly projected path drawn by its motion—and, out of pure luck, Kovu found the one he was looking for.

But it no longer had Kochai in its mouth.

It took Kovu a sickeningly long second to realize what that meant. The beast had consumed her—or was in the process of doing just that. But there was still a chance that she might be saved, and that slight hope made the dark lion swim faster than he ever had before in his life and mount the crocodile's back.

The aquatic predator thrashed and did all it could to throw him off, but Kovu held on with all four of his limbs, winding them tightly around its thick, powerful form. As the beast's rough back scales bruised Kovu's belly, the dark lion saw a collection of dark shapes gathering in the water all around him—in a moment, he wouldn't be fighting just one croc.

A source of hope, though, was the thought that above the water, Simba was beating his mother once and for all. Another was the fact that the disturbing lump he felt just below the crocodile's gullet was struggling—Kochai was alive and literally kicking. Kovu gritted his teeth, then, and dug his claws into his enemy's flesh. He pulled rapidly, but precisely, making a gaping but precise wound.

And a second later, Kochai had escaped. The impromptu Cesarean had been successful.

Kovu released the dying animal in his arms, then, and made brief eye contact with the tigress kitten. How she'd managed to hold her breath so long would remain a mystery to the dark lion for the rest of his life—but she wasn't going to be able to maintain that feat for much longer. Even as Kochai looked around to assess the situation, she was visibly struggling, flinching, only barely resisting the urge to sprint for the surface immediately.

Desperately, Kovu looked up, down, left, right, and several other directions for an escape. But they'd been in the water for far too long; they'd stirred the pot far too much, even in comparison to shock jockeys like Smerconish, Beck, and Maddow. Crocodiles had poured in from every attached body of water within some hundred yards—there were so many of them that they blotted out the Sun, circling around Kovu and Kochai in a giant, living sphere.

There was no legitimate reason why Kovu couldn't think of an escape—there had to be a way out of this, he just wasn't able to see it. He'd have to open his eyes soon, though, or—ah. Ah…

He hadn't been able to think of a way out of this situation because there wasn't a way out of it, not for the both of them.

Kovu looked at Kochai for what felt like a long moment although only a second or so passed as their enemies almost danced around them, very occasionally parting to allow a brief, refracted ray of sunlight down into the water. She was innocent, he realized, and beautiful—not like him, dark and full of sin. He was mated, though… she was just a cub. Letting the crocodiles fight over her while escaped, really, wouldn't be that bad—and no one would ever, ever know that he'd done it.

The real depth of the moral battle Kovu faced, just then, could not be fully appreciated—there wasn't enough time, but perhaps that was best. The dark lion wasn't sure what he'd decided quite yet, but he was sure that he had just a little more time. Time enough to touch Kochai for the last time and to hold her and to wish that he was above water so he could say that no matter what would happen next, he did not hate her.

* * *

Freak's unmarred eye was bruised almost shut, and he was bleeding—severely.

His adversaries were doing just as bad as he was, though, or worse. So, technically, he'd won.

In separate parts, the Black Army lay strewn about the southern Pride Lands. The li-tigon had carefully, methodically killed all of them, some in rather brutal manners—all but one. And that one survivor was Shah.

The li-tigon hauled himself toward his enemy. He'd been shot repeatedly in the legs, and it would take him some time to recover from the massive fresh damage that had been done to him—but it was alright. He was alive, and, in moments, Shah no longer would be.

For his part, the Black leader was clawing at the ground, crawling away. As he tried to escape the Pride Lands, he disintegrated rapidly; the dark armor and weapons that defined him falling away into nothingness. But he was still alive, at least for the moment.

Freak coughed, and tried to hurry up. He nearly fainted, but clung to consciousness with sheer willpower—and hope. The Sun was setting to the west, his right, but the li-tigon felt that a new day had dawned on his home. Kovu was defeated, the Black Army was minutes from complete obliteration…

And yet, the li-tigon did not feel that all was well. A few very important questions remained… and until they were answered, Freak knew that he wouldn't be able to rest. A few questions he'd formed only recently—for example, he wanted to know about Kovu, and, just as importantly, how he came to be. Other questions, though, had been in the shadows of Freak's memory ever since birth, at least in one case. One of his earliest memories… it just didn't add up with everything else he'd ever seen or been told in his life.

Freak shook his head and stumbled forward—finally, he was on Shah, and he knew that this was an enemy he could kill. Shah was no twin of his—he was an evil enemy warlord whose life had been defined by violence and terror. His stain was out of place on the somewhat wet, verdant grass beneath him.

With that in mind, the li-tigon turn his enemy over with a paw, an exertion that nearly made him pass out. Shah laughed, then, and Freak froze, seeing why.

The Black leader coughed up wisps of blood that evaporated into smoke and then nothingness as he looked up at the li-tigon with a defiance not unlike the final emotion his brother had had, though Freak didn't know this for certain, of course. Shah was holding a large-bore revolver—and had managed to level it at Freak's head. In his state, at that range… there was nothing the li-tigon could do to prevent his brains from being blown out.

Shah's jaw quivered; he was trying to speak. Freak tried to run or attack or dodge—but he was too exhausted. It was all he could do to remain upright and motionless, staring down at his enemy dumbly. Was he really going to die?... no motivation gave him the wings he needed, just then. He was too injured, too exhausted…

The ex-human's lips parted, shaking, and he managed to laughed, tiredly—he knew his own fate, but throwing the li-tigon's own sudden death in his face was just too fun, too cruel of an opportunity to let pass. Slowly, his finger tightened on the trigger.

A second later, the gun went off.

The bullet struck Freak, a centimeter from permanently injuring him and an inch from killing him. It streaked along the side of his face—don't misunderstand. It didn't graze him; it did real flesh damage by tearing the li-tigon's fur apart and drawing a bloody red line from his jaw to his ear. It neatly punched a hole through the thin sliver of black and white and orange and tan flesh at the tuft of his ear, in fact, displacing a pressure wave intense enough to send a dull, loud buzzing echoing inside Freak's head.

Out of exhaustion and injury alike, the li-tigon fell aside. In the process, he landed partially on his jaw, causing a jolt of pain so intense that it made him twitch to run through him. He was not dead, but only just—and Shah hadn't missed. His aim had been disrupted…

With rapidly blurring vision, Freak watched as a thin, pale figure stood over Shah's decaying form. His savior—was it his mother? She had pale fur, right?... or perhaps it was Sarabi, or Nala, or Asal? They were all fair-furred…

But none of them were bipedal. And none of them could hold or manipulate knives, not like the pale man before him was—finally, the li-tigon got it. He wasn't being saved by an angel, his savior was not sent by the Spirits and he came from some place other than Heaven.

Regardless—Kifo was saving him, there was no doubt about that. He'd kicked Shah's gun aside and then disarmed him; now, he was resting his knee on the ex-human's chest, pinning him as he neatly sliced through the Hindustani's throat—then stood up, watching as the Black leader, like the army he had headed, vanished into nothing more than a darkened patch on the ground.

Freak tried to get up, but he realized that he really had nothing left. He'd worked himself to exhaustion, and it was only through years of practicing transcending the limits of his body that he was able to keep himself from passing out, immediately. He breathed, slowly, painfully aware that the long he went without fixing his jaw the harder and more painful it would be to relocate it—but he couldn't do more than twitch, at best.

Not even as Kifo stood, turned, and walked toward the li-tigon with an inscrutable expression on his face. He knelt and Freak struggled to hear what he said next, but he was too tired. With the most dangerous being anyone had ever conceived not five feet from him, the li-tigon finally fell into unconsciousness.

* * *

Kochai would have been confused, then, if she wasn't scared out of her mind. As far as she could tell, she'd somehow teleported from some five yards away from Simba into a tight, somewhat acidic environment that she'd clawed her way out of with Kovu's help—then, she'd found herself in a dirty lake absolutely packed with crocodiles, one of which was slowly falling away with its underbelly torn to shreds.

Then, she'd realized exactly what the confined space that she'd escaped from was.

She was running out of air and the fact that Kovu grabbed her, suddenly, and squeezed her tightly did not help that fact. She squirmed, somewhat, not wanting the dirt and who knew what sort of miniature animal life to be pressed into her fur—despite being seconds from running out of air and one wrong move from getting swarmed by dozens of vicious crocs, she was still a meticulous, nearly OCD feline.

Kochai looked around, desperately; she wasn't quite as quick to realize that there was no escape as Kovu had been. She was actually looking away when the dark lion darted forward, preemptively attacking the largest crocodile of the bunch—a twenty foot monster with scars indicating that its life had been one of violence and aggression.

The very motion of the water was changed, then, by the amount of activity that resulted. Kovu and the beast fought and the rest of the crocodiles dived in as well in a sort of feeding frenzy, blinded by lust-like hunger to the point that, at least for the time being, Kochai was ignored. She stared at the carnage in front of her for a split second before she realized what was happening: Kovu was sacrificing himself for her.

She knew that she was too small, too weak to fend for herself against opposition like this much less bail out who she'd come to look upon as yet another big brother. She had to leave, immediately, if Kovu's death wasn't going to be in vain.

Blood exploded into the water; the crocodiles had their meal. Kochai had to swim directly through the solution; there was too much hemoglobin and plasma for the water to dilute into nothingness immediately. The water smelled and tasted like Kovu—that was what made her hesitate, just long enough for two or three ravenous beasts that weren't immediately able to get a scrap of flesh to notice her.

Kochai saw that some crocodiles had broken off of whatever remained of Kovu and swam as fast as she possibly could, racing for the surface, air, safety, escape. She was not a coward, but she knew when to cut her losses and run—and she knew when to honor brothers' dying wishes.

* * *

Kishindo was too fast for Simba. She wasn't nearly as big, but it didn't matter—she was fluid and dynamic and although the single serious blow she'd taken from him had significantly hurt her, she couldn't be touched. Simba found himself wishing that he'd saved his trump card for the end; now Kishindo knew the one way he might possibly injure her.

And she'd prepared for another bone-crushing headbutt by avoiding direct attacks to the lion's well-padded body. Instead, she attacked his weapons—she'd dance in and if he didn't raise a paw in defense, she'd get him right across the bridge of the snout. And when he did raise a paw in self defense, she'd go for that too quickly to be stopped. Thusly, Simba's forelegs were soon covered in deep cuts and bite-marks, some of them bleeding heavily and quite serious—it hurt to stand on all fours, and worst of all, the red-maned feline knew exactly what was happening.

Kishindo had been patient for over a lifetime; she had just enough patience left to fight a battle of attrition. While it was true that it would be satisfying to take risks and go for flesh-splitting bites to Simba's body, she recognize how much stronger and better protected from such attacks the lion was. She intended on slicing his forelegs to shreds, and then tearing out his hamstrings to immobilize the former Pride leader—then, she'd finally have her revenge.

For now, though, there was a lot of bloody work to do. That kind of worked for her.

The lioness found herself getting overexcited, and took a breather for a moment—that was enough to get her heartrate down, just in case Simba landed a serious blow. She didn't want to bleed out like her enemy would; a few seconds of simply circling and pacing weren't enough for Simba to relax. They weren't enough for Kishindo, either, but she'd never be able to rest until she finally took the goal she'd been striving toward for years: Simba's life.

The temptation to start monologuing again was nearly unbearable; Kishindo could have spent hours, literally, detailing exactly how much and why she hated her enemy. Before she succumbed to that deadly desire, though, the lioness attacked again with renewed vigor and speed—she wanted to end the fight as quickly as possible so that she could go and help the crocodiles finish off whatever remained of her boy.

A trio of claw strikes—low then middle then high—knocked Simba's thickened foreleg aside, then drew dark gashes across the unprotected flesh near his elbow. Kishindo was annoyed by his almost legendary mane; back in the old days when Scar's death was still fresh on everyone's memory she and several other Outlanders had found out just how impenetrably tough that auburn fur was in a botched ambush in far south.

Now, though, Simba's mane wouldn't save him. Nothing would. She was finally in control of things, and, finally, his damned lionesses wouldn't be around to save him.

Smiling cruelly the entire time, Kishindo began to rack up injuries of increasing severity. Simba's flesh was shredded—let him make his slight advances, it didn't matter if she had to back up as long as she could continue to attack. He wasn't so overwhelmingly huge that he could simply eat everything she did to him. Soon enough, she knew, he'd collapse out of exhaustion or injury and that would be the end of him.

By then, the Pride leader was barely able to support himself on his forelegs. His face was coated by a shining layer of blood and it was hard for him to see, but he had seen that Kishindo had fallen into her strategy too deeply—her devotion to weakening him and then finishing him within minimal risk was too great. By being dynamic to the point that Simba could maneuver her to any significant degree and failing to take into account the risks he was willing to take, she'd put herself in a great deal of danger.

They were fighting near where things had started, some five yards from the cliff that Kochai had been tossed off of. At this point, Simba couldn't move his forelegs at all without a great deal of pain, and even then, he could barely get them to twitch the way he wanted to. He was running out of time…

Panting, he looked at Kishindo with desperation—then, he looked past her. This was his home, this land of sprawling savannah and forest and, yes, lakes sometimes overfilled with near-sentient predators that could take apart lions in single combat in their element. She was a threat to it and had been ever since she'd joined Scar's fanatic legion, all those years ago.

Simba was not the Lion King, but in this case, that fact was helpful. His life wasn't as necessary; to protect his home, he could sacrifice it without too much worry.

With that in mind, the red-maned lion lowered his shoulder and charged. Kishindo saw it coming and tried to dance out of the way—but there wasn't enough room. Somehow, the former King managed to grab her in his forelegs, racing forward with lower body strength alone carrying him, and her… clean off the edge of the cliff.

She screamed in midair, and Simba did not know why. He didn't know that the one thing she hadn't been able to change in the past months was her fear of water.

* * *

Now they saw why they had been stationed in the northwest: there was something going on in the Forbidden Island, and it made the dark day when Kifo was created look like nothing.

A hot, reddish blast tore the sky and Earth apart with a sonic roar, one so loud that it hurt the Pride Landers to hear it. It really was a terrifying experience, even in the safest region in the Land of the Spirits—the discharge of power that caused that display was simply excess energy bled off into an evil celebration.

Rafiki and Roderik stood at the vanguard of the Pride Lands' troops. They chanted, rapidly, working against the steady flow of darkness that threatened to break down the barriers they'd already erected—and they were somewhat successful. As the sky darkened and storm clouds gathered over the Forbidden Island, things got several degrees colder in the Pride Lands themselves and that was the excuse some of the toughest felines the world had ever seen used to shiver.

They did what they were told, though. After all, Freak had ordered them not to move from their positions until he came for them or things got so bad that the only hope for life to continue was to run halfway across Africa. He was brave enough to confront an inner demon, physically; they would therefore be brave enough to trust his judgment.

The mandrill shaman knew what was going to happen next, regardless of how Freak's personal fight was going. Clutching his staff for support, he shared a glance and brief smile with Roderik despite the gravity of their situation: Kifo would be neither the last nor the most powerful force the Pride Lands would have to face. Hopefully, Freak had won and lived and was even then making his way, triumphant, to the northwest—but all of that might not matter in the slightest, because they might all be crushed by the new force that was being created in the Forbidden Island.

The failure of the previous generations to tie up the loose ends that had set the state for a series of showdowns like this was blatant, but, annoyingly, the Spirits themselves couldn't see what was going on in their creation. It would be some time yet before anyone in the sky was able to see their sons and daughters on the ground.

* * *

With a jolt of effort, he was able to get past the cartilaginous resistance that kept the li-tigon's jaw from its socket. It didn't help that he was now back in a body that couldn't benchpress two hundred, much less the five thousand plus that his demonic form could—but he managed. If there was one thing that hadn't changed ever since he'd been knocked out of his body just minutes ago, it was his unshakeable will to accomplish what he wanted to.

Now, though, Kifo wasn't sure what to do. Exhausted, he sat down next to the only other living being for some miles and tried to tie his pants a little tighter so they came close to fitting his waist—he was unsuccessful, so he just shrugged and held up his knife.

Looking at his metallic reflection in the blade, Kifo took note of a few interesting facts. He was very pale in complexion and hair; his eyes were prominently blue and he was slim, although not frail. The hot African Sun would have burned him to a crisp if it wasn't for the ubiquitous clouds overhead—for them, he was somewhat grateful.

He couldn't remember his name, and he wasn't sure what was going to happen next. Kifo put his knife away and wondered whether he ought to go to try to help Kishindo until he realized that he had no idea where she was, he couldn't conceivably help her in combat, and he didn't particularly want to anyway. What he did want… well, he didn't quite know. He wanted to go back to Times Square—at least, he thought he did. For now, though, he didn't know what to do with himself but wait. Maybe when Freak regained consciousness, something interesting would happen.

Until then, Kifo could only sit and try not to think about things too much. Idly, he flexed his unfamiliar, weak human fingers and wondered what would become of him. Was he going to die here, in a continent unfamiliar to him now that he had to deal with it without the protection of assault rifles, armor, and several hundred pounds of solid muscle?... that seemed likely. After all, he had no money and no other way to get back to New York.

Strangely, the idea of meeting his end here was not that repugnant. No, Kifo thought, as he looked around, this environment was somewhat more pleasing to the senses than the cramped urban existence that had been his for most of his life. He had no delusions about finding a reason to exist here—but, hopefully, his suicide wouldn't be ruined again by another fall into another strange land. Hopefully, he'd be able to rest in peace for once.

It was a strange thing to not quite wish for death but to accept it with a vague sense of longing although not to the point that he would hasten his own demise. Such apathy, unfortunately, largely defined Kifo—he could sit and wait for Freak to get up until he starved to death or something came to kill him, it wouldn't matter.

Of course, he had a number of questions for Freak… who he was, how he knew that he, Kifo, was coming, and why he'd elected to fight him instead of running—and for that matter, who the living skeletons that had just been wiped out were.

Those questions were significant. But what Kifo was most curious about was why on Earth Freak had disabled him instead of killing him. Mercy was a concept that Kifo understood but had never employed—but he simply couldn't understand why anyone acting in any semblance of self-preservation would take the chance of leaving a demon like he had been alive.

* * *

Simba and Kishindo crashed into the water as one unit—she was on the bottom, and that meant that she took the brunt of the collision. Simba had the time and wit to take in a deep breath and hold it; whereas the lioness's oxygen was crushed from her lungs.

As soon as they were under, Kishindo began to struggle. Simba had released her by then and had started to race toward shore, shocked by how much activity was going on—there had to be dozens of crocodiles, and, hopefully, she'd distract them long enough to give his escape cover.

The last Simba saw of Scar's last living cultist, she was sinking to the bottom of the lake, flailing and panicking—she didn't know how to swim, although that might not have mattered. Five specimens that had to weigh nearly a ton on average were trailing her and closing, rapidly, mouths open and hungry for flesh.

Simba turned away. He wanted to make sure that Kishindo would never threaten anyone again, but he had to focus on getting out before he could do that.

The former Lion King noted, uneasily, that he'd seen neither Kovu nor Kochai when he'd been falling—that didn't imply that neither of them had escaped, necessarily. He very easily could have missed either or both of them on the banks of the lake, far from danger, or they could simply have gotten out in the few beleaguered seconds when he was in the water but disoriented.

In an almost but not quite panicked manner, Simba swam as fast as he could, relying mostly on his hind legs for power—Kishindo certainly had hurt him, but a brief look around suggested that if he hurried, he'd be left alone. The crocodiles seemed to recognize that they'd have enough food without trying to fight with a much bigger and much more powerful cat like him.

Without too much difficulty, Simba got out of the water. Panting and injured, he nearly collapsed at the very edge before dragging himself farther away, just in case—then, he did collapse. Chest heaving, the former Lion King struggled to get to his feet—he needed to find Kovu and Kochai… no, Kovu or Kochai. Even he couldn't be hopeful enough to honestly believe for any amount of time that both of them had lived and weren't with him the second he was out of the water.

He didn't have to blindly speculate about who had survived for long. A familiar tap-tapping of light paws approached him—and a second later, Simba was caught in some painful median between sadness that Kovu had died and relief that Kochai had survived. He felt her look him over for serious injuries and then rub her countenance against his neck, crying about how Kovu had been killed.

Tiredly, Simba managed to twitch a foreleg around Kochai, loosely holding her while he tried to give her words of calm and comfort. All the while, he couldn't help but think about how incredible it was that a mother and her son had been killed in the same moment, in the same area, with the same means—he was fairly certain that this had fulfilled another of his great-grandfather's prophecies. Now, his daughter had no mate; there was no possible way to continue the bloodline that had kept the Pride Lands safe for generations—err, now that he thought about it, maybe it was time for a regime change.

Freak wouldn't be King for long, though; Simba knew this. That was good, because Simba also had the sneaking suspicion that he wouldn't be able to produce offspring, especially not with Uvuli. Kiara would have to find someone else… or their next leader would have to be unrelated.

Now wasn't the time to think of the future, though—everyone's short-term survival was in severe jeopardy. A reasonable responsible leader would have done his absolute best to get up and get back to the northeast, and Simba certainly did his best—but he was too injured, too tired. Soon, he allowed himself to pass out with Kochai safely under his arm. It wouldn't be long before he'd recover, he knew, and despite their complete failure to help anyone for several months, he trusted the Spirits to keep them both safe.

After all, two had just died. There was no way they could let things get worse than that.

* * *

Freak's life was based on change. He'd been pulled across continents, and he'd now spent the majority of his life on the move without a set home for more than a few months at a time. He was always able to tell where he was when he got up—and who he was with. These two articles of knowledge had been constants in his life.

Therefore, he was rather shaken when he regained consciousness and couldn't immediately recognize his location, nor the human some yards away from him. The li-tigon got to his feet in a single, deft move and entered a passive-defensive stance, ready to react to anything—but the strange human just looked at him, not reacting in the slightest to the sudden movement.

And then, Freak remembered where he was. He remembered what he had been doing and he realized that he was looking Kifo right in the eye.

Without firearms and with a physique that could only be called diminutive, Kifo was decidedly less threatening than he had been just hours ago. Freak found himself circling the human, ready to attack and kill—but Kifo just looked at the li-tigon. His only weapon was his blade, and the weak, somewhat unfamiliar manner in which he held it suggested that even if he did try to attack, he wouldn't get very far.

After a few moments, Freak stopped circling his enemy. He simply sat and watched and thought for what felt like a very long time. He had any number of questions in mind, but only one on his lips—

His face fell, then, as he looked to the northwest. Something very, very serious was going on, and it had put Kifo on his knees, hissing in pain. Freak thought, briefly, as a cold blast of wind threw his mane into an angry mess—then, he nodded, and started to move, darting to within ten feet of Kifo in the process.

Some twenty feet later, though, the li-tigon stopped and turned, facing his twin over his shoulder. He didn't need to say a word; he just needed to meet the eyes that were so strikingly similar to Asal's and jerk his head.

A moment after that, the most unlikely duo possible was making its way to the northwest. Kifo had a splitting headache that made him run half bent over in pain, but he kept up, following Freak's lead. He didn't notice it, but as they moved, he began to change, slowly, so that by the time they were halfway to their destination Kifo was of somewhat larger dimensions than he had been originally.

* * *

(Next chapter comin' at you real soon.)


	29. Nexus I: Calm

The Lion King: The Freak

Chapter 29: Nexus I: Calm

* * *

(It's hard to believe that after so long, things are finally ending.)

* * *

"Dichotomic" is a big word. But it's difficult to conceive of a more apt one for the time and place.

Let us consider, briefly, the collective character of those stationed in the Pride Land's NWFP—a lawless land where one didn't get far without an armed militia of bearded tribesmen with Kalashnikovs… that is, the most remote, scarcely-travelled sector of the Pride Lands. Rather understandably, the several dozen fighters that Freak had stationed there were shaking in their boots—they were watching a display of evil so breathtaking that it was almost hypnotic.

Enraptured, their faces held expressions ranging from shocked, to terrified, to somewhat jealous. After all, they didn't exactly have much in terms of divine aid—if they were going to win, they were going to win alone. The Spirits had played an important but invisible role in buying them time and stalling their aggressor here and there, but now, they were a non-factor.

Their numbers represented every lion pride in the Land of the Spirits _except_ for the Falme Pride and the now-defunct Lower Plains Clan. It was incredible that the previously ethnocentric White Sands Pride was represented by its two survivors, and that they stood side by side with the Eastern Nomads. The bonds they'd created so quickly were forged out of necessity, but would outlast the emergency that had created them.

It was somewhat comforting that if they survived, there would never be another inter-pride war in the Land of the Spirits. What was saddening was the fact that it had taken such a desperate situation to bring about a miracle like that—and the fact that there was unlikely to be enough lions left when the smoke cleared to even bother fighting amongst themselves outside of one-on-one brawls.

No one left his or her post, although everyone was scared. Odds for individual survival were slim, after all; and it certainly felt like it. Even strict teamwork and a brilliant set of tactics would not guarantee a survival rate of more than sixty percent _at best_. Many of them were going to die and there was no escaping that cold, hard fact.

At least they were distracted from thinking about Kochai's and Simba's fate. Even Kiara and Nala felt certain that if they looked away from the terrible scene before them for a second, they'd be attacked from the back.

The red bolts of lightning that continuously struck the Forbidden Island in one particular spot were so powerful that the Pride Landers could feel the change in the atmosphere's electrical charge where they were—either that, or what they were feeling was simply the presence of absolute evil. The enemy forces, it seemed, were gathering directly on their doorstep for one final showdown… now, allow the Lion Sheikh to take you to meet them before he explains the meaning of the first line.

* * *

The Pride Landers weren't the only ones that were capable of overcoming generations-old prejudices and intolerance by focusing on a single, shared objective. Many, many, _many_ different beings were gathering in the Forbidden Island—and they were all doing it to take the Pride Lands down.

Apart from our old friends, Altsoba and Cretac, there were all of the regional sub-commanders that Kifo's Master had brought to help him in his task. Surprisingly enough, they had not been doing nothing for much of the duration of this fan-fiction—although the Lion Sheikh will not deny forgetting them for much of it.

Mostly, they'd been recruiting troops from outside of the Land of the Spirits. Many were hired, so to speak, by the promise of power and wealth and immortality—but an almost equal number were coerced into fighting. There were gorillas, leopards, and, of course, dozens of humans.

And they were all being armed and armored.

African Kevlar seemed to be rhinoceros skin, and although the members of that species would have generally been disgusted and offended by such a use of their flesh, their simplistic minds had nearly been wiped of anything but anger and a dark desire to destroy.

The humans were armed with a variety of weapons—cheap AKs and MACs purchased in bulk at black market arms bazaars across the world. There was plenty of ammunition but it was cheap and in poor condition, and that they were cleaning their firearms by rubbing them with oiled bits of cloth suggested that they'd be able to get out maybe ten rounds, at best, before their weapons jammed or failed to feed.

Of course, there weren't many firearms. Most of the humans had nothing more than machetes and their own fists and feet—they were cannon fodder and they knew it.

The barren, rocky terrain of the Forbidden Island was buzzing with activity. More forces were still pouring in, and their unorthodox means of travel had had unanticipated results. Many of them were injured or nauseated. Some simply died upon or prior to arrival, and other simply didn't turn up.

But enough did and were in good health. After being armed and armored, they began to train—nothing intense; mostly, they just stretched out their limbs under the watchful eyes of the sub-commanders.

A great deal of their individuality had been taken away. They operated in single units, and as a result, their coordination was not something that could naturally be received. Even the sub-commanders were impressed when a hundred distinct beings struck out with the same attack at the same instant—it really was a sight.

As more troops continued to be beamed into the Forbidden Island, one subcommander—a dark scaled cobra—made his way into one of the few parts of the Island that wasn't currently being used. Slithering along through the permanently dead remnants of trees and rock, he stopped some distance from the southern border of the Island.

He didn't have to wait long, looking out over the imbricate waves of the river and the foreboding plains and hills of the land beyond it until his Master's final asset arrived.

Of course, the serpent was taken by his appearance. It was ironic, in his opinion, that their greatest enemy and one whose existence had taken years of careful work to confirm looked so strikingly alike—but it also made sense. What was interesting was how, beyond their appearances, the enemy and the being now approaching the Forbidden Island shared almost nothing. The only things they had in common were things that couldn't easily be changed—but beyond that, there was nothing. The one approaching was a shell of a creature.

But he was nothing if not vicious, even in appearance.

"Master," the cobra murmured in a quiet, hissing tone, "you've brought this one here… why? Is he to lead the invasion?..."

"No." After months of service, that deep, unearthly tone was still terrifying to hear.

"He's not leading anything…" By then, the feline was swimming, effortlessly, through the somewhat rough currents buffering the Forbidden Island from the rest of the Land of the Spirits. "He can't even say more than a few words. He's a fail-safe… even if everything else goes bad, then I'll be able to salvage things. Look at him—he's perfect."

The cobra couldn't help but agree. Although decidedly larger than the average lion, this one was slim and built for speed. Although he was probably somewhat less powerful than the Warrior King, it was difficult to question who would win in a fight if the approaching cat's combat skills were anything like his appearance suggested.

In a one-on-one conflict, the Warrior King would only be able to hold out against this one for a few moments. A concentrated attack by several opponents would wear down the fighter now making his way onto the Forbidden Island, shaking out his fur so that the cobra leaned forward, briefly, swearing he saw the shadows of _something_ beneath his coat—and that's why he was the fail-safe. He could only be used when there weren't enough Pride Landers to bring about anything besides one-on-one combat.

As the cobra looked on, the strange feline in front of him stood completely, perfectly still—Master's orders, after all. Some moments later, the serpent's slitted eyes widened and he slid back an involuntary foot.

"Interesting…" The cat's voice was strange—his vocal chords were pathetically underdeveloped and his mouth unfamiliar to forming words. Everything he said came out sounding painful, forced, but what was most terrifying was the fact that the cobra's Master now had a physical form.

Rather wisely, the snake bowed his hooded head and tried not to appear too terrified—although the idea that a being powerful enough to bend minds to his will could now touch him as well was not pleasant. He felt his Master testing out his powerful paws and the massive defined muscles in his legs, slowly walking around and then transitioning flawlessly into an all-out sprint for several yards—before stopping on a dime without even breathing hard.

"This body is useful," the Master said, looking around his world with a gleaming pair of dark, gun-metal eyes. "I think I'll stay in it for some time… come." He walked dangerously close to the cobra, so much so that the serpent nearly died of _fear_ and made his way toward his troops. They had to see who they were fighting for in the flesh.

* * *

As far as anyone in the Pride Lands' Peshawar knew, the battle between Freak and Kifo was still raging on.

The congregation of forces in the northwestern part of the region, to the east and south of the Khyber Pass which lead, of course, to the Pride Lands' equivalent of Afghanistan—they needed a morale boost. Unlike Freak, they had to watch their enemies rally up so they knew in their guts as well as in their minds that the fight they had coming was not going to be an easy or a quick one, and probably not a winnable one, either.

Freak, of course, was a powerful warrior and brilliant tactician. Perhaps with Simba's strong strategic planning, they'd be able to eke out a victory—but no one managed to hold the delusion that it would be a satisfying one. Many of them would die, perhaps so much so that the Sun would finally set on the existence of lions in the Land of the Spirits.

The rolling grasslands of the NWFP area meant that visibility was good. In fact, there was nothing at all to prevent them from seeing all the way to the nearest obstacle, some two miles away—a low, gradual hill. And they all did just that when a distant, rarely-heard roar told them two things: Freak had won… and it was time to turn around to see him.

It's difficult to describe how iconic that large, powerful silhouette looked, even thousands of yards away—there was no mistaking it. The setting Sun managed to penetrate cloud cover, at least for a moment, so that when its rays struck Freak's chest and countenance he seemed to glow ethereally—he was truly alive and on his own four feet. He had won his battle… so maybe they could win theirs.

For a moment, that shared awe continued—then, Freak roared again, asking if they were all still there and ready to fight. Of course, the roar that answered was proud and loud enough to physically strike him even those two miles away—it continued, for a moment.

And then it became a scream of terror.

* * *

The li-tigon tilted his head. He didn't understand.

And then he looked to his side. And then he understood what was scaring them, though he didn't understand how it had come to be.

"Kifo…" Freak's brow tightened, and although he didn't assume a defensive posture, not quite, his claws subconsciously unsheathed themselves. He couldn't suppress that instinct—after all, Kifo was no longer just a boy. Now, he was as big and powerful and demonic as he ever had been.

Although he was armed with a knife and a rifle on his back, Kifo didn't seem to grasp the fact that he was eight feet tall and deadly once again. He simply looked back at Freak, then scoffed, impossibly—a sort of smile.

"What?" he asked. "Is there something on my face?... What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Freak said, after a moment of contemplation. He was very tempted to tell Kifo exactly what had happened, but that might have certain unintended consequences. No, it was best to be honest but vague—after all, Kifo couldn't help what body he occupied. And if there was one thing Freak had learned over his life, it was that there was nothing wrong with an individual being as he was made to be.

Of course, the Pride Landers' apprehension, let's call it, was—not justified—understandable. Apart from Kochai—who Freak couldn't see for some reason—none of them had ever seen anything like Kifo. Even the "Lesser Gods" that Akane had seen once when he was very, very young weren't at all like the specimen standing next to Freak.

And now we see the meaning of this chapter's first paragraph.

The demon was such a dark and an overpowering presence insofar that in comparison, Freak seemed fair and mundane. To have both presences so close to one another, side by side… it seemed like there was an impassible black and white barrier between the two.

As the twins looked at the Pride Landers, they noted that, rapidly, the screaming stopped. Kifo raised a vascular hand and rubbed his chin—in that brief second, he became aware that he wasn't just a kid anymore. For some reason, though, that changed nothing. He had no desire to attack or kill… anything, really. But the group in front of him did intrigue him. It did.

"Are those your folks?" he asked. Kifo felt a strange longing—he wanted to get closer, even though he had no delusions about the danger in doing so. He felt strangely certain that Freak wouldn't let him be harmed, although he had no reason to.

"Friends and family," the li-tigon affirmed. "They're afraid of you. Show them that you're not a threat… it'll be safer for all of us that way." He looked up at Kifo expectantly until the demon slowly raised his bare hands to slightly above shoulder level, showing that he was unarmed.

Slowly, the two fighters—vicious enemies until hours before—made their way forward. Besides Freak, no one in the Pride Lands had ever seen Kifo before or had much of an idea what he looked like, beyond the brief descriptions the li-tigon had given them; but there was nothing that could be done to prepare one to face the demon for the first time. There was nothing that could be done to stop that cold, deep, instinctive fear from threatening to take over.

No one ran, though, and that was a surprise. Even as Kifo got closer, and closer, and closer still, no one broke rank and ran—and no one attacked, either. It wasn't out of fear that they didn't attempt to take the demon down, it was because Freak spotted any disposition to violence and shut it down immediately with a glare—Kifo was no one's enemy. Not anymore.

But when they got to within about fifty yards of the Pride Landers, the li-tigon glanced up at his twin and jerked his head—somehow, that was enough to tell the demon to drop to his knees.

Once Kifo was down, Freak nodded in approval, once, and looked at the Pride Landers—he smiled, then blinked, then looked over them again. Kovu was supposed to be patrolling, but that didn't explain Simba's absence, or Kochai's… He'd have to ask about them later, though. For now, the only topic of conversation could be the elephant in the room: Kifo.

"I'm glad to see that everyone's alright," the li-tigon said. "We'll discuss what's going on in the Forbidden Island later… they're going to invade us." It was closer to a statement than a question, but Rafiki and Roderik nodded gravely regardless. In response, Freak simply looked away for the briefest of seconds then nodded curtly himself, still aware that no one was looking anywhere but the demon behind him.

"This… is Kifo." A moment after saying that, the li-tigon twitched in irritation—of course everyone already knew that.

"He's not a threat to anyone. I defeated him," the li-tigon added. "It was close, but I defeated him. I was coming back when I was attacked by a certain force… and Kifo saved me."

Now that certainly surprised at least a few in the crowd. Uvuli, for example, looked away from the demon to give Freak a disbelieving stare—no one could really swallow the idea of the demon saving _anyone_, let alone his sworn enemy.

"I hate to interrupt," Rafiki slowly interjected, holding his staff in a decidedly less than neutral stance, "but the Forbidden Island is going to invade us very, _very_ soon. We need to think of some way to fight them…" The mandrill's naturally humorous tone was now deadened and flat. And as he spoke, a collective shiver made its way through the group.

Freak shook his head, though. "Not now. Tonight… we're just going to relax and sleep. In the morning, we'll have a way to defeat our enemies… but they'll have to be delayed." Pointedly, the li-tigon turned to Rafiki—and after a moment, the shaman nodded.

Sighing softly, Rafiki turned and tiredly made his way to the banks of the Forbidden River—the Island that it buffered the Pride Lands from was less than a mile away from where he stood. It was close enough.

The mandrill patted his stick, briefly, then took it into his hands and held it like a spear. And then, with a burst of effort, he threw it into the air.

The projectile was surprisingly aerodynamic; for about two hundred yards it flew straight and true. Then, however, it split apart in a fiery, red explosion that liquefied in midair, so that brilliant, sparkling gaseous fluid slowly seeped down through the air and solidified into what was unmistakably a shield—a protective bubble of sorts that would keep the Forbidden Island's forces at bay. At least for some time.

Freak knew that they were coming, though, and they were coming the next day—Rafiki mentioned this in an offhand, somewhat apathetic manner. There was no way to escape the coming invasion… it could only be delayed for some time. Hopefully, the enemy force would languish and suffer due to that unexpected delay instead of practicing and sleeping and eating—hopefully.

The li-tigon looked from the weak, temporary shield to his forces—his beloved family and friends—to Kifo. He had to say something, he knew it, because it was almost certain that many of them were going to meet their ends the next day, under his command. So, slowly, he opened his mouth—then he shut it, then he smiled.

"You're going to go back to Pride Rock now," he said. "Kifo will make sure that nothing happens to anyone… I'll get us something to eat, and find Simba, Kovu, and Kochai. Everyone is to rest, and I mean it. Tomorrow's going to be a long day." To show that he was serious, Freak looked at Pride Landers once, meeting all of their eyes—only then did he nod and turn to his twin.

"You're going to have to take care of them," the li-tigon said. Kifo didn't look like he understood, so Freak stepped a little closer and glared at him for a second. "There could be another attack from the southern or eastern borders. We don't know what your Master is capable of. Just protect everyone, like you protected me."

He could not, of course, clap Kifo on the shoulder before leaving. But he could quite meaningfully bump his shoulder against the demon's arm. As Freak walked away, Kifo looked after him for a moment before turning, slowly, to the Pride Landers…

* * *

Though expansive and diverse, the Pride Lands were familiar enough to Freak that he could neatly organize the scents about the area into two sets: what he was looking for and everything else. This, of course, made him travel to the southeast—he could tell that Simba and Kochai as well as the unfamiliar lioness that had accompanied Kifo into the Pride Lands had made their way to the vicinity of the Outlands.

At first, Freak found himself simply walking. His mind occupied itself by focusing on his goal and the limited threats that would exist as he got closer to the southern border—then, the li-tigon realized how unlikely he was to ever make a walk like this again. By that time the next day, the Pride Lands would be soaked with blood, and even if he lived, things would simply never be the same again.

Freak had of course survived any number of harrowing battles, but this would only be his second war. And as much as he didn't want to admit it, even to himself, there was a cold tone of finality about it.

Maybe that was a good thing. If the Pride Landers won, they would achieve peace for several generations as well as the knowledge and will to fight evil at its inception without reservation in the future.

But there was still no way to ignore how much things would change, regardless of what happened the next day. Many good beings were going to die, as well as potentially hundreds of others.

Freak looked down at the grass below him—then up at the cloudy but expansive sky above. Everything he saw and experienced was a miracle in its own right, but by the next nightfall, much of it would be either permanently altered or simply destroyed.

Well, then—he had to enjoy it while he could. He might never again be able to feel the softness of the grass against his legs, or the gentle, cool breath of the wind on his face as he traveled. And even if he did, many of the Pride Landers would not.

Freak hoped that he'd find the three he was looking for soon enough. It was getting late, and he still had to hunt and after that he had to discuss a few important issues with Rafiki—and after that, he had to sleep. His mind was not a strategic one, but he had at least one card left to play before things finally came to blows.

After a few more strangely enjoyable moments of walking, the li-tigon noted that he was approaching a lake of some sort. This was an area with which he was not immediately familiar, though he seemed to recall Simba saying that something very important had once happened there. After crossing one final hill, Freak saw Simba and Kochai—laying on the ground, sopping wet. What had happened?

* * *

It might be difficult to think of the presence of a several hundred pound killing machine as comforting, but Kochai had been through some serious sh—that is, she knew by experience that Freak was caring toward his friends and family. For that reason, when she saw him approaching she didn't feel stifling fear—but rather overwhelming relief.

The kitten got to her feet and watched as the li-tigon approached, rapidly—soon, she was smiling. So, he'd won?... That was good. Not that she ever doubted him, of course.

Freak didn't preface his arrival with anything—he simply began to check that Simba was in stable condition, even as Kochai affectionately rubbed her face against his side.

"What happened?" the li-tigon asked. "Why do I smell Kovu?" The former Lion King was all right, of course—just unconscious. After briefly lifting the red maned lion to see that he wasn't horrendously injured, although his forelegs looked fairly mutilated, Freak turned to Kochai—why was she crying?

* * *

"Guess we ought to get going."

It was a reasonable statement, but after Freak left, no one really wanted to move. No one wanted to _breathe_—it felt like the slightest upset in the delicate balance that existed would cause a great deal of unnecessary destruction. So, naturally, no one answered Kifo. Awkwardly, the demon was left to look around for a tolerant face—that task was made difficult by the fact that he suspected that looking at any one being for too long would engender a violent response.

Well. Someone had to make the first move.

With that in mind, the demon turned away from the Pride Landers and began to walk—slowly—toward Pride Rock. As he did so, he passively carried an RPD machinegun in his left hand with the barrel of the weapon pointed well away from the lions and hyenas that comprised the area's fighting force.

It was some time before he heard them slowly, cautiously start to follow him. Without pausing, the demon turned back over his shoulder and nodded, briefly. He knew that a smile might give them all a very wrong message.

* * *

He'd never get used to it, though he ought to try, at least in preparation for the next day's events.

Freak couldn't help but collapsing, physically, when Kochai told him what had happened to Kovu. This was a being that, in hindsight, had a lot in common with him: they'd both grown up in fairly rough neighborhoods and had spent much of their lives as outsiders. Kovu could have been his brother—but now he was dead.

There was nothing that he could do now, though. It wasn't comforting that there literally wasn't a shred of the dark lion left for Freak to take back to Kiara—he'd been destroyed so completely that even the lingering scent of him that was left in the area was rapidly dissipating.

Freak shook himself out of his sadness, though—eventually. Kochai had fallen asleep crying, and that worried him. She'd been injured, he could tell, and her seeming exhaustion could indicate that she had in fact been serious, perhaps permanently hurt. But there was nothing Freak could do about that, either, except for place the sleeping tigress next to Simba and then sit back to think.

Rafiki could cure Kochai, hopefully, and Simba would be himself in a few hours—except, his forelegs might be a bit tender. Kovu was beyond anyone's help, but Freak couldn't focus on that—he had some hunting to do.

Though, as the li-tigon slowly made his way to a group of zebras some miles northeast of his position, he couldn't help but constantly ask himself how he was going to explain things to Kiara.

* * *

Curiosity killed the cat: this was a lesson that Akane and Aoi had learned well in the White Sands. Anything but rigid conformity and submission was rewarded with beatings or potentially death, so, over the years, the two white lions had gradually come to simply accept the world as it was without question.

And Kifo was terrifying to look at, much less be around, much less speak to. Maybe that had something to do with why no one dared to ask him what exactly had happened in his fight with Freak.

Every aspect about the vicious being before them was terrifying, from his sheer physical size, to his dress, to his weapons. Although his movements had been nothing but slow and predictable ever since they'd seen him, it was easy to tell how frighteningly strong he was. When he stepped forward, his calf muscle bunched up with enough energy to propel him upwards several yards—and that was just his calf, probably the smallest of all of his muscles.

Pride Rock was a long walk away. And—at least the Pride Landers—ever moment seemed like an eternity. They were, all of them, simply waiting for the demon to snap and attack. It was inevitable, they believed, but when it happened, at least things would be simple. They could defend themselves when it happened; there was no need for this stressful exercise.

After what seemed like forever… they were halfway to Pride Rock. And Kifo still hadn't attacked.

And, wouldn't you know it—it was Akane that broke down first and said something.

"Tell us… …Kifo…" the white lion began, "what… happened." He wanted to continue the thought, but after a moment of reflection, Akane decided he'd said enough. The massive being in front of him wasn't stupid—Kifo could figure out what he was being asked.

The demon slowly traced a finger across his jawline, then shrugged. "We fought; I lost. I'm not sure what happened next, but I'm guessing that that guy tried to bring me over here. He was attacked, though—I don't know who did it. But, anyway… I sort of stepped in. If I didn't, he would have taken a bullet through the brain." To underline what he was saying, Kifo reached up and lightly tapped his forehead—Akane flinched at that.

"So, you saved him." It was a question, but one worded like a statement.

"Yeah, I… guess I did." Kifo glanced back and managed a lopsided smile that, while somewhat frightening, wasn't horrific or threatening. For some reason, acknowledging what he'd done for Freak made him feel something he hadn't felt in a very, _very_ long time.

"So, ahm… how did you hide from me? When I was in the White Sands, I mean. I wondered about that," the demon said. "Does it have anything to do with how that guy was invisible for maybe half of our fight?"

So. Freak had been able to follow Akane's advice. The white lion nodded, unconsciously moving a bit closer to Kifo—although Aoi stiffened up in fear when he did that.

"It was easy, actually," Akane said. "All I had to do was be fearless."

* * *

By the time Freak was back and finished hunting, Simba was awake. The two Kings—one past and one present—greeted one another with a nod as dusk began to overtake the Pride Lands. Freak had successful brought down a number of zebras some miles away, and, together, he and Simba would bring back enough food to fuel a full day of fighting.

And Kochai, of course. Despite the state she'd been in when sleep had overtaken her, the young tigress had curled into a neat ball, hiding about half of her face behind her tail. After all, with Simba up and about, she needed some source of heat. For a moment, both of her relatives simply looked at her—that was enough to make things somewhat less downbeat and tense between them.

Freak was the one to carry Kochai back, at least to the area where he'd done his hunting. Then, she'd have to walk—but for now, neither of them wanted to wake her up. For now, she could have her sleep, and they could talk about things quite frankly without worrying her or anyone else.

How Freak managed to speak while carrying Kochai… is a secret. The Lion Sheikh guarantees, however, that he managed to do it.

"Simba, many of us are going to die tomorrow."

The red-maned lion could only nod in response—after all, it was true. "You're right. And I'm not a great strategist… I only have experience in dealing with guerillas and insurgents. I've never, ever dealt with an all-out invasion before..."

"Nor have I. And we slaughtered everyone that could have told us how to fight back against an invasion… do you remember? The Bloody Shadows… it seems like so long ago."

"Happy times."

They both laughed at that, although not for very long. The more both of them thought about it, the more they realized how unprepared for a no-holds-barred defensive battle they were. The Nomad Loyalists had a great deal of endurance, it was true, and the native Pride Landers were probably the best fighters in the land bar none, but over the course of hours, it was unlikely that many of them would last out.

The Desert Warriors might fare better, but they were used to fighting constant waves of somewhat weak enemies. Whereas the force that they would face now would probably be structured, ordered, and comprise serious opposition. Freak's grandmother was dead, and she could have helped…

"Simba, tell me about when the Falme invaded," the li-tigon said. He looked to his cousin, and nodded. "When my father was King…"

* * *

I wasn't there to see it happen. But I can tell you what happened… or at least the gist of it. No one really wanted to talk about it, but I forced them to—because it killed about a third of our lionesses. Many hyenas were killed as well… I didn't care about that at the time.

There's not much to say. It was a sneak attack, and there wasn't even time to bring everyone to the fight. Everyone in the southeast of the Pride Lands was hammered; there were no reinforcements. Eventually, people found out what was going on and the Falme lost enough troops to pull back—but I think it was a lot closer than anyone wants to admit.

The way everyone talked, though… your father was on the scene. He's the only reason why things didn't go to Hell, and I think that he purposefully got rid of as many lionesses as he could. His loyal corps were far away at the time of the invasion, so the only ones in danger were those that eventually rose against him with me. I have absolutely no idea how he got rid of his enemies _while_ using them to fight for their homeland _without_ letting them know what was up, and that's where the real genius is. Scar probably didn't care about the hyenas that much, but how he secured a victory like that… he made the situation work for him. Somehow he did it. It's incredible.

* * *

Freak nodded, although he didn't look at Simba. Something about him suggested that he wasn't saying all of what he was thinking when he answered—but then, the li-tigon wasn't exactly an easy character to read.

"What I want to know," the li-tigon said, "is how the survivors fought… what they did differently, how they applied squad-based tactics to large scale combat. I can guess a few ways Father directed them to a victory…" Freak said this, but he did not continue. And, after a moment, he spoke again.

"Rafiki set up a shield. It'll last until early afternoon tomorrow… that'll have to be enough time to prepare. There's… it's funny. There's so much to do, yet there's not much at all to do. We have to hide this one," Freak referred to the small female he was carrying, "and we have to draw up a plan of defense and act on it. That's all… but doing any of what I just said… well, it may not be possible."

Indeed, the possibility of simply failing to even put up a fight was strong. Many might break ranks and flee even before the onset of the invasion, and Freak wouldn't be able to blame any that did. But he couldn't account for that possibility in his plans—if even _one_ ran, then everything was lost.

Their fates, it seemed, balanced on the razor edge of a knife: only just.

Freak felt strangely sick. Fear was an emotion he was used to; he'd spent half of his waking hours manipulating it when he was younger. That fear, though, was different—it was an emotion or a sense that the li-tigon could rationalize and use to his advantage or, at will, banish from his system and render obsolete. What he felt now was a numbing, paralyzing sort of fear, the kind that loudly, darkly told him to abandon everything and get out before he, too, was massacred.

What was worst about it was that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't ignore it.

Things would be easier, he hoped, after being with his friends, all of them—for the last time—and eating. They'd sleep and then they'd fight, and that was all there was to it. Escape was a non-option.

That manner of thought made things a little easier. But not very.

* * *

Akane wasn't the only one talking to Kifo by the time they were back at Pride Rock. Kiara, Nala, Roderik, and several other brave but cautious Nomads had spoken to the demon. Their conversations were simple and carefully avoided his more malevolent activities in the Land of the Spirits—it was funny; Kifo was a demon and a dangerous warrior but everyone seemed most curious about the boy he had been before everything went to Hell, literally.

It was hard, of course. Kifo was no story teller and, of course, the Pride Landers had no way of knowing what simple, mundane things back home were—but the demon didn't lose his temper once, or even come close to it. He found himself oddly patient and interested in nothing more than answering the questions posed to him and asking some of his own.

Of the many aspects of Kifo's life that were incomprehensible to the Africans, the one that made the least sense was the way people in Kifo's world so naturally and rapidly and thoughtlessly confined themselves inside neat little brick walls. That was the best way of putting it—people went about their lives alone. They were born alone and they lived alone and they died alone, coming together for brief seconds here and there to work and copulate and that was it.

Whereas in any pride or clan of hyenas, every individual was an irreplaceable component of any groups he or she was part of insofar that everyone knew everyone else and loved, or at least tolerated them. It was true that nine out of ten prides or clans or other collective enterprises failed, though not catastrophically, but there was nothing better than being part of a group that accreted on its own over the years in terms of size, power, and its ability to serve its members.

It was inconceivable that even one person in a society of any size, even one as big as Kifo's, managed to slip through the cracks, so to speak, to become the shell of a being that he had been.

To be fair, though, Kifo had to admit that he had been given blatant opportunities, on occasion, to fix himself. He recalled that a few times, co-workers had tried to get him to say more than a few words to any of them, and sincerely so. In response, once, he'd snapped at them—and they'd given up.

The way he told it, it almost felt like he was at fault for becoming the way he was. And that couldn't be true.

* * *

At one point on their walk back to Pride Rock, Freak felt a slight twitching, a sort of fidgeting, and bent down for a second to release Kochai. After yawning and stretching for a long moment, the tigress kitten stumbled, nearly falling, before slowly realizing where she was and following along. She wasn't playful, as she usually was, chasing butterflies or the cuffed tip of Freak's tail when there were none of the colorful, winged insects to be found.

And neither Simba nor Freak quite had the heart to ask her why she was so sad. They both knew, and damn well.

Pride Rock's increasing vicinity brought with it a dampened sense of awe and inspiration. Their massive paws easily shifting the irrepressible grass beneath them, they both glumly set their minds to the fast-approaching responsibility for one of them, at least, to tell Kiara that she was the youngest widow in the history of the Pride Lands.

As they got closer, though, Freak saw one particularly large, upright silhouette among the felines and hyenas slowly making their way into the sleeping chambers of Pride Rock. Kifo hadn't slipped up and gotten himself killed, it seemed—and that thought brought a smile to Freak's face that he would never admit was even slightly surprised.

* * *

It was perhaps unsurprisingly cold that night. After eating, Freak had told the majority of his fighting forces to go to sleep—and, reluctantly, they'd submitted. Simba, Tanga, Roderik, Rafiki, and, of course, Kifo, had been pulled back—the li-tigon needed to talk to them all.

The reddish shield that Rafiki had brought forth was still intact, apparently. Now and then, distant bursts of gunfire erupted, and it wasn't just from training. Angry, frustrated Island forces were trying to break down the protective sphere to no avail.

"We have a lot to talk about."

Freak said that, then turned to face the rest in the core group. Having gathered on the overhanging crest of Pride Rock, they were all fully exposed to relentless, cold wind originating in the Forbidden Island—more forces were still being beamed in, albeit infrequently. The resulting high pressure forced air outward in all directions, though there was no way to explain the cold.

Kifo had produced a tattered length of grayish fabric and wrapped it about himself. Like a phantom, he sat with one leg hanging over the edge of Pride Rock, constantly looking to the northwest. He had his gun in his hands and thought, for a moment, before turning and facing Freak. The expression on his face was inscrutable, but decidedly not neutral.

"First," the li-tigon said, turning to Rafiki, "you're sure the shield will hold?" _"If it collapses overnight, we're dead."_

The mandrill nodded. "It was created in evil… and it will be destroyed in evil. It will hold until noon… after that, it is only a matter of time."

_"Good."_ Freak nodded, then paused, briefly… before turning to Kifo.

For a moment, the demon was vaguely worried—the intense gaze fixed on him was somewhat intimidating. And the way he was standing… it would be all too easy for Freak to push him off to a potentially deadly fall before he could do anything about it.

But he didn't react. He simply watched and waited.

"You're going to help."

It was not a question, but there was a desperate sort of urging audible just below Freak's flat, authoritative tone—Kifo knew that he could refuse. And, really, he was quite tempted to. He couldn't gain much personally by participating. It would be very easy, and very wise, to simply get up and go right then; after all, he knew exactly how to get through the White Sands in record time. From there, he could head north or perhaps south to the Unexplored Regions; they were supposed to be beautiful this time of the year…

"Why should I?" Kifo found himself asking. He leaned forward and turned his head to the side a little in a curious manner, carefully gauging the li-tigon's and his companions' response to that question. "I mean… shit, I barely know you. Any of you—and I didn't—I don't have any obligation to help you. I'm not one of you, and you wouldn't do the same for me. No way, man," the demon said, beginning to shake his head. "I'm not getting involved with this."

"Too late," Roderik said. "It's your Master that's doing this—and you fought for him before. We know that you did," the Nomadic leader said. "You can't just wash your hands of this—you were created by him… though I don't know how, I think I can guess. Before you came here, you were a pathetic, shell of a person—and you died. No one missed you and you returned the favor—so you didn't leave in peace. Your life, I imagine, was spent in a constant state of weltschmerz—you knew you were doing everything wrong, but didn't have the will or the guts to fix it."

That was pretty tough love, particularly for a demon. Kifo, however, did not attack—he simply stared at Roderik for a long, testing moment, as if deciding whether his next move ought to be escape or a decidedly more permanent form of escape.

"You still haven't told me why I should help you."

Simba was about to reply to that, but Freak cut him off with a brief look. For a moment, there was just silence, save for the distant sounds of the Island forces preparing for their attack—the eerie calm didn't last long, though.

"With Kovu gone, and Kiara… unable to create the next generation of leaders for this land… who's going to take over when our time is over?" Freak asked. When the war was over, Simba would be King again, and he… Simba would be King again, anyway. It was still the li-tigon's responsibility, though, as a son of the Pride Lands, to consider the region's future. They needed to prepare the next leader, or who would produce the next leader, as soon as possible—because the next generation or so would have a long, difficult time to bring the Land of the Spirits back to prosperity.

What Rafiki said next, though, shocked everyone.

"That would be little Kochai," the mandrill said simply, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "It fits in with another one of Mohatu's prophecies. She's very young for now, but she's everything the survivors of this war will need. You don't know her as well as you think you do, Shujaa." The shaman smiled in his own disarming manner, and laughed. "She's a tigress, but she'll never be able to be alone for very long. She will be the next Queen."

That was comforting, in a strange way. Kochai as leader… well, at least that way, there would be no intra-familial feuds over leadership; that was the advantage of hereditary monarchy. Freak couldn't conceive the challenges facing her—and he didn't need to. He had to win this one, final war… and that was all.

"It's getting late. Time to sleep," the li-tigon said after a moment, and he was right. Tanga blinked at him, once—then nodded, as comprehension dawned on him. Slowly, he turned back toward the sleeping chambers, making a show of yawning.

After that, the rest of the group got the message and followed him in, leaving Freak and his twin alone.

Neither of them said anything for some time. Kifo had turned back toward the northwest, resting a hand on his chin. For hours, now, forces had been built up—it was likely that the gathering enemies numbered in the thousands with ease. Although many of them were likely to be pushovers, cannon fodder, enough of them would wear down even the greatest of fighting forces, leaving them vulnerable to attack from more serious opposition.

There was no way to spin a situation like this into something positive.

"You're afraid."

Kifo turned at those two words and faced his twin. He didn't reply, and it was only several moments later that Freak seemed to realize this and continue speaking.

"It would be very easy to run away. Safer, too. Probably a wiser decision than staying to fight. I'm tempted to leave right now," the li-tigon said, and it was impossible to say if he was telling the truth. His voice, his face, his eyes—all were flat and emotionless.

"Even though it's best to leave," Freak said, now standing at Kifo's side to watch the continued activity in the Forbidden Island, "I'm not going to. Self-preservation… it's not everything."

"So why are you staying?" the demon asked—he was genuinely curious. He'd managed to gleam slight tidbits of information about Freak from the group he'd accompanied back to Pride Rock, but it was nothing significant—certainly not enough that he knew what made Freak tick.

The li-tigon seemed to consider his answer carefully, or perhaps he was just deciding how to word it best. There was no way to be sure.

"I am staying," he said slowly, "because I have no greater purpose in my life than to protect everyone here. I don't have time to explain… but I was a lot like you until very recently. In a lot of ways, I still am." Humorlessly, Freak smiled in a lopsided, slightly forced manner.

He turned away, then, so Kifo couldn't see him grind his teeth and wince. Damn it all—he'd spent a great deal of time with the Dark One; why couldn't he succinctly convince Kifo to stay and fight?... or, failing that, not go into Pride Rock's sleeping chambers and massacre everyone before anything could be done about it?

It was another few minutes before the li-tigon turned around to see that Kifo was again watching as the Forbidden Island prepared for the next day. Freak joined him, and quickly regretted it. The less he thought about the task facing the Pride Landers, the better.

"You're never going to know what you've missed if you leave," Freak said in a low, somewhat curt tone. He shivered, once, and looked up at Kifo again—his expression was not positive by any stretch of the imagination. "You might as well stay. At worst, you'll die—but who cares, right?..."

This wasn't going well. Freak had never been a motivational speaker, but—no, he was thinking about this too much. For a moment, the li-tigon tried to speak spontaneously without second-guessing himself, but he was _drained_. There was nothing left to be said, apparently.

Freak felt, regardless, that he'd done a fairly poor job of making any case for Kifo. He hadn't motivated any thought on the demon's part—he'd done nothing. He couldn't even talk to his twin—who knew why he did anything?

It was with a sense of sad acceptance that the li-tigon finally began to walk to the sleeping chambers. He'd never been able to rest soundly when he was in the Pride Lands before, but who knew—now, after more socialization, maybe he'd be able to close his eyes without fearing for his life.

"Why don't you take a walk around?" Freak said, uselessly. "See what we're fighting for… Good night, brother."

That was an ironic term to use, Kifo thought, as he turned and watched the li-tigon slink into the shadowed cavern within Pride Rock. He tried to look back to the northwest, but those words chilled him to the bone more than the constant air pressure difference ever could.

* * *

It wasn't very long before Kifo took Freak's advice. What was going on in the Forbidden Island—whatever it was—it was terrifying and unprecedented in the entire history of the Land of the Spirits, but after a few hours, the demon had seen all he was going to see. He also felt sick; perhaps a late-night walk would fix things at least somewhat.

Several moments later, Kifo found that as boring as watching the Forbidden Island was, walking around with nothing to do wasn't much better.

The moon was out that night, but it was impossible to say to what degree it was. The only thing that penetrated the Pride Lands' cloud cover was soft white light, not a discernable shape of any kind. Kifo, of course, would have been perfectly fine in absolute dark, but there was something quite pleasant about the way the diffuse light created discrete layers of color and darkness in the slowly swaying mass of grass that he was making his way through.

That was what made the demon pause, first, to fully appreciate.

He simply stood still and watched the mundane example of the physics of nature for what felt like a long time. His eyes, several times as powerful as a simple human's, focused with laser-like precision on individual blades of grass—or even more specific details than that, like the varying amount of wear on them exerted by age, weather, and, of course, animal life.

He'd never really just taken a minute to look at things, not in any sense. Now, Kifo found himself nearly overwhelmed by the eye candy before him—he had to see more.

He moved on, then, away from the brief grassland that covered the area immediately to the south of Pride Rock. The gradual hills meant that at his height, it was easy for Kifo to see the nearest patches of forest—all of them were somewhat similar, of course, in terms of plant and animal life, but each particular miniature forest of a dozen or so trees was certainly different from the next. The amount of diversity Kifo found just by looking around for a few seconds was not easy for him to grasp.

Continuing to move, the demon reflected that despite everything—he was just looking at the mundane and stupid. What few animals were visible to him were, of course, not intelligent—unlike the dozens currently sleeping in Pride Rock.

He had a good memory, though. And because of it, he could recall with great accuracy the particulars of the lions and hyenas he'd spent several hours traveling with. How incredible it was that they existed as they were, and even spoke to him in some cases without terror or the intention to kill him—that thought gave Kifo pause…

* * *

Sleep didn't come easily for Freak. After all, he knew damn right that his dog had been kicked—that is to say, he knew that the next day would be remembered forever for no reason other than the amount of bloodshed that would take place. Although he had full faith in the shield Rafiki had brought up, it was hard to calm down.

Everyone else had managed to, Freak knew. When he'd entered the sleeping chambers, he'd spent several moments ensuring that. It was an emotional moment, though—this was the last time he was going to see most of their faces. At least, as content and relaxed as they were. Even Kiara, who had faced the death of her mate just some moments before, was resting peacefully.

Freak was jealous.

No matter how hard he tried, all he saw when he shut his eyes was darkness. It was overwhelming, oppressive, omnipresent—there was no escaping it. So much had to be done in so little time—but nothing could happen in the morning unless Freak rested immediately.

Well. He'd been born to the darkness—literally. He'd faced overwhelming odds since his first seconds alive, and he'd always come through in some form or the other. No matter how long and dark the nights of Freak's life were, the Sun had always risen.

* * *

You don't know when your birthday is. Not for certain—of course, you (hopefully) have a birth certificate and of course your parents buy you a cake and perhaps even gifts more thoughtful than cash on one day out of the year, but you can't know for certain when your birthday is. The Lion Sheikh assumes, of course, that you can't remember your first moments of consciousness and when they were—so, at most, you can make a guess with a nearly, but not quite overwhelming amount of supporting evidence.

Let us all imagine, then, what it _would_ be like to be aware of one's first moments alive outside of the womb.

Coughing and struggling to get to paws too underdeveloped and clumsy to support him, the being entered the world. It was hot and wet and there were too many presences nearby—after a moment of effort, he was able to get some elbow-room.

He had no idea what was going on, of course. He looked up, and down, and all around, and he did not understand. There was a big one not far from him, and another one like him as well and they were close to him and he didn't know what to think of them. When he'd pushed away from the little one, she'd pushed back with one limb—he knew this because his first movements had met resistance, and there was nothing else that it could have been.

He was aware that he existed. That was the only thing he knew.

He didn't remain an epistemologic skeptic for long, though. He knew that he had four paws, a body, and he knew that the other one did too. He knew that she was a lot like him and he knew that five seconds after the big one reached out to touch her, she was dead.

It wasn't long after that that he understood what the dark, glinting extension from her digit did. It was a weapon—a deadly, vicious weapon that was now being turned on him.

He didn't know how he did it—he couldn't consciously move his limbs. Some primal instinct took over, though—and moved him away from the big one. He saw her face change and he did not understand—she said something then. He didn't understand that, either.

But he did understand that she really wanted to kill him, because she tried to again. So, again, he moved out of the way and looked up at her again.

Now, things were starting to get dangerous. He was against a wall, and now that she was on her feet, there was only so much room for him to move. Her own body, massive and terrible, bigger and stronger than him a dozen times over threatened to suffocate him with its sheer presence—but he wasn't going to be pushed out of existence. He wouldn't let that happen, and _that_ was something he knew damn right.

She tried to hurt him again. He jumped out of the way, now—and she couldn't touch him. She couldn't touch him and she realized it, because when he landed he didn't have time to react to what she did next. After all, he was only a few seconds old.

He saw a blur—and he jumped back. But he was too slow.

There was pain, then, and blood, but it wasn't like what he'd just experienced. What he felt was neither confusion nor uncertainty—he knew what had happened. She had struck him, and he was hurt. He was alive, though, despite her best efforts to the compliment of that possibility—and after a moment, he looked up at her. There was no fear in his mind and therefore none on his face, but he knew that he had to get away from her. He couldn't fight her, and she'd never stop trying to kill him.

What happened then can only be called history. One life ended, and another began—and that's all Freak had ever thought of his birth for the longest time.

* * *

He didn't wake up—no, to say that would be inaccurate, but only slightly. In a strange place between consciousness and the general alternative, Freak found himself scouring over the somewhat sketchy and rather dark memory of his first living moments. Somehow, he couldn't shake the feeling that it didn't quite add up, but he didn't know why. The li-tigon felt himself turn over uncomfortably, and not because he'd made his bed on a rock, of all things—his birth was axiomatically among the most important points of his life, but he couldn't work out a few details of it.

And he didn't know why. The slightest pieces of circumstantial evidence suggested an outcome that was simply impossible—it was so impossible that Freak didn't even allow himself to name it, even in his mind.

He forced himself to go to sleep again. The night was no longer young, but he still had one thing left to do.

* * *

Dark fur, odd tastes in females, and scarred eyes weren't the only things they had in common. Both of them had miserable relationships with their fathers—although for rather different reasons. Scar's father had willfully pushed him away, while Freak's father had spent every day of his death wishing he could be with his son.

It had been quite some time since they'd spoken. In that time, several hundred thousand words of fan-fiction had been written; Freak had changed. The being that Scar met that night was a stranger to him.

The dark lion had been resting, or trying to. Although the Lion Sheikh can't emphasize how little the Spirits seemed to be able to actually accomplish in their creation, their work had not been without result. The forces still gathering in the Forbidden Island arrived with missing limbs, or appendages, or heads, or entire bodies because they'd been disrupting the process in a risky counter-attack.

Scar, however, couldn't help but feel that everything would soon be shown to be in vain. He had faith in his son—but he also respected their enemy as a determined, divisive, vicious foe with brains and the ability to fight on his own terms. The odds for Freak's success were very, _very_ long, especially since something had happened quite recently that no one expected: the head honcho went off the grid. Someone, or something had approached the Forbidden Island from the southwest, and then there was a gaping hole in the Spirits' intelligence.

Talk about depressing. Maisha had approached her father some time before with news that the dark lion did not remember—snarkily, he asked forgiveness for not leaping for joy and promptly fell down for an impromptu nap.

He slept for some time. Or maybe he didn't. Time wasn't inexorably linear as it was on Earth—it could literally slow down during times of boredom and exhaustion. What Scar did recognize, however, was that at some point, he felt something that yanked him to his feet and made his eyes widen.

* * *

Heavy interference from the activity in the Pride Lands' relative Afghanistan—that is, the Forbidden Island—made their first meeting in several years take place in a setting not unlike that that the two powers involved had used when Freak had been exiled. It was a dark room, though there was no table and there was no ganja either. Father and son entered from opposite sides of the small structure.

At first, both played it cool, walking slowly and carefully examining one another. Scar, of course, was precisely the same as Freak remembered him; the inverse of this statement was not true. Scar didn't recognize his son for a moment—then he saw the triangular scar that had withstood years of time and a full-blown physical transformation and knew that he was looking at his son.

The Lion Sheikh knows, but will not say who suddenly sprinted forward first.

Their efforts were both of them in vain, however. The closer they attempted to get and the harder they tried to do it the more they were pulled back. It got to a point that both the dark lion and his son exhausted themselves by sprinting—succeeding only in forcing themselves to the far ends of the room.

Freak was the first one to speak. His tone was not the flat, unreadable drone that Scar expected—there was warmth in it. Respect, too, and maybe even more than that. They had only ever interacted for moments—but that didn't mean that Freak had no affection for his father.

"It's been a long time, Father," the li-tigon said. He paused, briefly—the canned greeting of inquiries about health and family didn't really apply to someone that was long-dead. So, instead, Freak had to synthesize his words.

"I've missed you, and there's so much I want to tell you—but I don't think we can talk for very long. It's only a matter of time before this meeting is compromised."

He was right, but almost anyone else would have been hurt by seemingly such a cold statement. Scar, however, knew that there was no sense in wasting what time they had smothering over one another, as desirable as that was. It could come later—but some things had to be discussed immediately. So, as he'd done a thousand times before, Scar banished all emotion from his being and nodded, curtly, becoming a creature of logic and nothing more.

"We're not… certain," the dark lion said, "what your adversaries are. We've never seen anything like a few of them before; they're probably from the Unexplored Regions. Whatever they are—you'll have to be prepared for anything. Your strategy has to be changed… because if you have _a_ strategy, you've already lost."

"We have to be dynamic and ready to fight in any manner at any time," Freak said slowly. "How? Once things start, it's going to be constant chaos. There won't be time to tell anyone to change tactics or warn them of some new attack or foe—what are you saying, Father?"

"You have a significant advantage that you haven't considered," Scar said. He looked to the side, briefly, stroking the wayward locks of black fur that extended from his chin. "Your fighters… they're all different. I count at least five distinct fighting styles in your ranks; you know them better than I do. What is needed is careful delegation… split everyone up into groups. Three to six strong apiece… with diversified strengths."

"I understand… Father, that's brilliant."

"Mmyes… I know." Scar smiled in his trademark, twisted manner. Although what he'd said made sense, it in itself was an oversimplification. While the character of their enemy was technically unknown, much of it could be guessed at—after all, he'd shown his hand before by creating Kifo.

The one they were fighting had big dreams and big plans, but he couldn't take a loss in the Land of the Spirits—this was the battle he _had_ to win before he could do anything elsewhere. He was going to go all out; nothing and no one would be reserved to fight another day. This foe was extremely aggressive—but he was also arrogant and overconfident.

Fighting a defensive battle against him on one front was a good way to get overwhelmed and beaten down. A single weak point or any lack of uniformity in fighting style would invariably lead to retreat, flanking, and eventual destruction.

The answer, then, was as terrible as it was simple.

"Use seventy to eighty percent of your numbers as simple defense," Scar said suddenly. "They must not put up token resistance—they'll have to fight _hard_, and some of them will die. There's nothing you can do about that," he added in a flat, somewhat apathetic tone.

"With the remainder of your forces, lead a blitzkrieg counteroffensive. You'll find your enemy on the Forbidden Island—he won't be able to escape. His natural form is very weak—you can kill him easily. Take the quickest fighters with you and once your enemy's forces are sufficiently occupied slaughtering—being slaughtered by the rest, run. Run as fast as you can and don't return until the adversary is killed."

Freak said nothing. So, Scar continued.

"When you swim across the Forbidden River, I imagine that you'll be noticed. You'll have to penetrate whatever defenses the Forbidden Island has, though I don't expect it to be much. Use your best judgment—leave behind as many of your crack troops as possible to lessen the pressure on the main front. But the quicker you finish things, the fewer will die."

Freak said nothing again, at least for a time. Finally, he nodded, although not in a very certain manner.

"Father, I would never have done anything like that… and I'm not sure that your strategy will work. There's too much we don't know…" Freak shook his head. His mind, inexplicably, drifted to Kifo. He couldn't even convince his twin to stay; the demon was now probably back in the Black Hills even then.

"You're the better strategist, though. I'll do what you say," the li-tigon said slowly, carefully, as if he was convincing himself more than anything else. "But I have to know… the Falme invasion, when you were King… how did you stonewall it and win?... and how did it happen that the only ones that died were some of your worst critics?"

"Ah, yes, Operation Jaywalking Pigeon—why are you looking at me like that? There are worse names for operations… 'gothic serpent' comes to mind. Anyway," Scar said, "it happened that way because that's the way I had it planned. I don't have the time to explain the plot fully… but I was responsible. The battle itself wasn't how I showed my true genius—the fact that the battle happened is."

Freak shook his head, smiling, then grinned toothily. "Modest as always, Father. I don't know what I'd do without you… I mean that."

Things would have gotten emotional, but Scar had his pride. He didn't let anyone see him do any more than smile, and his own son was no exception. There were few that can smirk without being condescending or sarcastic—and Scar was not one of them. Freak knew what to look for, though. And he found real warmth in his father's eyes.

"It's time for you to run along now, Shujaa," Scar said, suddenly serious. By now, one intrusion had been attempted and it was only a matter of time before there was another, more successful attempt to pry into the meeting. The dark lion took one step back—and paused. "Son, if you lose… if you die… you won't be able to join us here. This place that they call Heaven… it won't exist anymore." Scar paused again. "The stakes can't be higher. I've never told you to do anything before in your life… so take this order to heart: win."

Freak seemed to have frozen in response to the sudden upping of the ante, and he couldn't be blamed for it. Just when he thought that things couldn't get any more tense…

The li-tigon shook his head. He looked down for a moment, then raised his head to see his father for what could well be the last time.

"I'll see you soon, Father. Keep watching me… …goodbye."

Scar hardly had the time to return the brief farewell before Freak had taken one final step backward and vanished from sight. The dark lion stayed where he was for a minute—he couldn't go back, not quite yet. After all, he didn't let anyone see him do any more than smile.

* * *

Freak didn't expect to see anything more that night. He wanted nothing more than to pass out completely, giving his mind as well as his body time to rest. Rafiki stopped him for a moment, though—just a moment. What he had to show the li-tigon was significant but simple. They hadn't been up to just nothing while he'd been on his little vacation—they'd been using peacetime to cautiously prepare for times when peace no longer existed.

Freak had already seen some of them. Strategically positioned upraised clumps of earth and stone could offer limited protection from gunfire and large-scale attacks, but that wasn't all by a longshot. Rafiki was clever—he'd tied together in some cases miles of thin, unbreakable vines and wired them up to hidden traps set underground. When tripped, a chemical reaction would take place that would release a powerful acid into the air—enough to severely burn lungs, eyes, and any limbs that it actually touched.

Dozens of gourds full of similar stable but reactive components were also safely stashed behind Pride Rock. Banzai would be able to deliver devastating ranged fire if things got close enough to Pride Rock—for a time, anyway. No one could be spared to cover him, so when a shock or aerial division was dispatched to take him down he'd be on his own.

How many Banzai would take down with him would be entirely up to him, but his death was inevitable. All the hyenas, in fact, except for perhaps Usiku… they simply couldn't take as many hits as a lion. Their stories would all end within twelve hours—but not Uvuli's. Uvuli would live, because for Freak to lose love _twice_ without fully coming to understand or experience it… that was too cruel. Uvuli would live, definitely.

Freak thought that to himself again and again—he didn't know how many times. But unlike counting sheep, no matter how high he got he simply couldn't relax. Because the more he repeated those few words to himself, the more hollow they rang.

* * *

No matter how dark the night got, the Sun always rose. It was one of the first things that Freak had come to rely on besides his own mind and body—at least, it was one of the first things besides his own mind and body that he'd come close to approximating reliance upon.

The next morning was no exception.

What was the exception to the generally clear skies met by those who greeted the day along with the Sun, of course, was the cloud cover that would either entirely end that day—or expand to envelope the rest of the world. And yet to simply describe the dawn as cloudy would be inaccurate—there was something in the air that made the heating glow red-orange, not simply yellow.

Maybe it was symbolic. Or maybe it was just coincidence.

Whatever it was made the sight Freak's eyes met when he left the sleeping chamber that much more unsettling—and surprising.

"So, Kifo. You're here."

He hadn't returned long ago; Freak could see that although he didn't know how. The li-tigon could also see that his twin hadn't _quite_ made the conscious decision to stay and fight—it was more like morning had arrived before he had realized it and now he was just staying by default. Freak would have to choose his next words carefully, because Kifo could still very easily be pushed away.

Kifo, however, made Freak look like a readable, open-minded character. The demon's face was completely blank and even his twin could scarcely guess at his inner thoughts.

For a moment, the demon simply didn't answer. When he did speak, it was in a halting, jerky sort of way because although he'd never known what he wanted, now the stakes of his choices were rather higher.

"I'm… going to stay," Kifo finally said. "Don't ask me why… don't talk to me about it. Might change my mind…" It wasn't a threat, it was simply true and Freak understood it. For that reason, the li-tigon simply kept quiet and joined his twin on the crest of Pride Rock.

It was really incredible two beings could simultaneously be so similar and so different. When both were seated and viewed from the back, their profiles were nearly identical—and when either of them spoke,

"You were out all night," Freak said, and it wasn't a question. But Kifo nodded regardless.

"I needed some time to cool off and think," the demon said. "I grew up in a city… guess you don't know what that is. It's a pretty…" he searched for a word briefly, "a pretty… gray place," Kifo said finally. "Never really took the time to look at anything until last night."

"You're wrong about one thing," the li-tigon offered, a moment later. Kifo's brows raised and in response, Freak simply smiled. "I know exactly what a city is. I've even been to one."

"How…?"

That question wasn't going to be answered; at least, not for a while. Freak kept smiling but turned to the northwest again. Rafiki's shield was still standing strong… for at least another few hours, they'd be safe.

Freak needed time to think, time to sort out the strategies his father had given him and think of the best squad-based tactics that would make those that were left behind fight to live and those that came with him fight to win. Everyone had eaten very lightly the previous night… and all of them would burn several thousand calories that day.

Fighting and not only defeating Kifo but doing so without killing him—this would have filled most other beings with confidence and hope. Freak, however, knew that the engagement they were all facing was nothing like his battle. For one thing, he didn't dread what was going to happen later that day… he feared it, yes, but he acknowledged it with a grim sense of resignation.

"Come on," the li-tigon suddenly said, turning to make his way down from Pride Rock. "We're going hunting… you can hunt, right?"

"Fuck yeah, I can hunt." Kifo followed Freak at a distance either out of fear of the li-tigon or out of respect—it was impossible to say which it was if it wasn't both.

It was, however, quite telling that the demon kept his voice down. After all, everyone else was still asleep.

Freak had planned to leisurely track and stalk and then bring down and then bring back prey for perhaps an hour. Kifo rather ruined things, then, by sighting a group of gazelle some seven hundred yards away.

Suppressed thirty caliber rifles really are a marvel, and in fifteen seconds the demon had used one to take down three reasonably-sized specimens with great efficiency. A single shot through each of their heads was enough to kill them immediately—rigor mortis was induced before their bodies hit the ground.

The roar of the supersonic bullets' flights was somewhat annoying. For the most part, however, the demon was a silent killer.

Freak stopped in his tracks and stared at Kifo after that. When he'd spoken to his father, he'd done so under the assumption that his twin was long gone. But now that it was clear that Kifo was staying, the li-tigon couldn't help but recall their showdown—when he'd been on the receiving end of a grenade launcher.

"You know what," the li-tigon said, actually feeling something very much like hope, "we might actually win this."

* * *

Everyone ate in silence. Freak hadn't let them sleep in much—he couldn't, because a great deal of time was required to set up what he had in mind. Rafiki made it clear, several moments after waking up, that his shield would obfuscate the rest of the world to the Forbidden Island to the point that their plans would remain secret—and that was good.

But everyone was still aware that many of them wouldn't live to see the next day. Some were sharp enough to notice Freak's eyes darting around, sizing them up—he was deciding who would go where and with whom. Essentially, the li-tigon was selecting who was most likely to live and who would be left to die.

It was fortunate that despite everything, Freak still found it relatively easy to be cold and emotionless—a warring machine. He didn't see his beloved friends and family all around him… he saw soldiers: assets to be used and expended as necessary. On some level, the li-tigon was chilled by how quickly he could regress to the shell of a being he'd been for most of his life—but just then, he couldn't bring himself to care too much. Reflection and self-psychoanalysis could wait for some other day. That day, he needed to fight and he needed to win.

"You're sure you don't want to eat, Kifo?" Simba said that, before licking a thick sheen of blood and ichor from his muzzle. He offered the demon a smile—but his request was turned down as Kifo curtly shook his head. Eerily, the red-maned lion recalled Freak doing that precise act without the slightest deviation in idiosyncrasy back when he was new to the Pride Lands—before he'd been even slight socialized.

"I don't eat," the demon added, several seconds later. "Thanks for the offer, though. Means a lot…"

The smiles that were exchanged then were sincere, though uneasy. Everyone present was poignantly aware that many of them were literally eating their last meal—and the uncertainty of it all was the worst of it. Who would live, who would die?... there was no way to know beforehand.

Well. At least there were a few moments of peace left to enjoy. The unnamed dozens of the Eastern Nomad loyalists were mostly paired up already when they'd followed their leader to the Pride Lands—but Freak saw that the number of singles since the previous night had dropped down to zero. It really was incredible how love blossomed in even the most trying of situations.

Or maybe everyone was just trying to get it before they died virgins.

Kochai was eating quietly not far from Kifo's feet. She didn't seem to be nearly as afraid of the demon as everyone else still was—she had no problem with being both close to him and facing away from him. This despite the fact that he was staring down at her; she could feel it. Of course, the demon's intentions were not malicious. He'd just never seen a tigress cub before in his life.

After a moment, Kifo glanced at Freak with a questioning expression in his eyes. They were twins—no words were needed to explain that Kifo was asking if Kochai would be hidden. Freak simply nodded once in response; apart from the fact that she was still very small, she was to be the next leader of the Pride Lands. Her loss could not be afforded.

Even Kifo seemed to realize that Kochai wouldn't like having to sit this battle out. She'd be forced into hiding kicking and screaming the entire way.

Freak considered, briefly, looking around and taking at least a moment to remember the too-short time he'd spent with all those around him. He'd known some of them—those in the White Sands—for only a few hours apiece. Others, like Simba, were far more familiar to him. But the li-tigon quickly focused on eating. The more he thought about the approaching task, the more painful it would be to get right.

He'd have to be cold in order to win this one.

* * *

No one really felt full when they were finished eating. It was true that Freak had been very careful to not bring back too much food—everyone had to have calories to spare but they couldn't be weighted down. But it was also true that they could all have kept eating for hours without realizing that they'd had enough: that's how much they were focused on the upcoming battle.

Now, they were assembled before Freak at the base of Pride Rock. Some of them were still smiling; most were not. None, however, really looked miserable or hopeless.

Freak's expression was kept carefully neutral; no one could fairly read it as anything but that. This despite the fact that he absolutely refused to make eye contact with anyone—if he did, he would be unable to lead properly. There was no question of that.

He didn't speak for a few moments. Apparently, the li-tigon simply looked down at his paws before murmuring in a low, somewhat curt tone.

"I am going to list some names," he said mechanically. "Those who I name should go to the westernmost point of the Pride Lands." He paused, briefly. "Nala, Kiara, Aoi, Roderik, Usiku, Ed…" Freak nodded. He waited, for a moment and jerked his head. "Now. There's no time to waste."

He heard the ones he'd ordered to leave slowly, reluctantly do as they were told. They passed him silently, though he could feel their eyes on him—they wanted some sort of motivational speech, but Freak could say nothing that was both true and motivating.

It felt somewhat strange to leave without saying goodbye, but Freak's orders had been crystal clear. Usiku, at the very least, saw the utility of it—prolonged farewells would make things that much harder. A desire to say goodbye would make everyone fight their hardest—maybe even hard enough to make it unnecessary to say goodbye.

Now, the bulk of the fighting force remained with Freak. So did Kifo—and so did Kochai. Although it was difficult to say what the general sentiment toward the demon was, Freak didn't expect that anyone really trusted him. The decision that would be made next would probably have been second-guessed at almost any other time.

"Kifo, take Kochai to the back of Pride Rock. There's a cave… you'll know what to do next. When you're finished, meet me two miles west of here."

A collective shudder ran through the group, but no one protested—except, of course, for Kochai. Sensing that she was going to be hidden, the kitten bristled, then looked around… and decided that it would be best to try to escape later, when there were fewer people around. She could probably get away from Kifo if he was alone… with that in mind, she sighed and allowed the demon to lead her away.

"Banzai, you're staying here. The rest of you… let's go." That was all Freak said to the rest of them before he began to move toward the northwest. And as they followed, none of them could pretend for any amount of time that the reddish shield Rafiki had thrown was anywhere near as strong as it had been even when they'd just started to eat.

* * *

He set them up close to Pride Rock—just a mile or so away from the monolith that defined the land around it. At that range, Banzai would be able to provide devastating support fire—and the death toll from the traps Rafiki had set would be devastating. Better yet, the strike force Freak would lead into the Forbidden Island would be less likely to run into resistance owing to the distance the enemy had to travel to engage the Pride Landers.

The orders they were given were simple: hold position until attacked and then swarm out with full force. They'd create as broad of a front as possible to avoid getting flanked, but they were almost certain to end up fighting in a circle regardless.

The time that it would take Freak to find and defeat the adversary was optimized—nearly. Once the li-tigon had prepared his troops, he left in silence, feeling their eyes follow him for a long, long time.

He wanted nothing more than to be able to turn and say a few comforting words, but he didn't trust himself to do it properly.

At least they had Simba. Maybe he'd be able to lead them in a prayer, or something, because Freak certainly couldn't.

* * *

The one person who wasn't absolutely depressed by the current situation was, predictably, Kochai. Although she'd allowed herself to be led off to the back of Pride Rock, she hadn't allowed herself to feel the worse for it. Besides, Kifo would be more prepared for a sudden attempt to escape if she was apparently cooperative and happy.

She really was quite small next to him. Kochai barely came halfway up Kifo's shin, and then, she was fairly slim and light-furred. Contrastingly, the demon was eight feet tall, dark, and handsome—that is to say, he was a lot different from her. She definitely didn't mind him, though; her guard had been lowered to the point that she thought it appropriate to allow herself to be distracted by a passing butterfly for several seconds.

Watching Kochai play… that brought back a few unwelcome memories. Kifo couldn't remember much, but his own childhood had not been unenviable. He recalled, or he thought he recalled, at one point in his life having the desire to do something for kids like him.

Of course, that wasn't likely to happen now.

"Are you going to fight with big brother?" Kochai asked suddenly, looking over her shoulder and then just tilting her head backward to look at the demon while she walked along. As a result, she nearly tripped over an unexpected rock but recovered, well, smiling despite everything.

"Not a chance," Kifo said. "He already took me down once, and I'm not gonna go back on my word like that. I'm on his side now—unless… that's what you were asking me in the first place…?"

Kochai simply laughed and hung back a little bit so that she was walking next to the demon. She seemed fairly curious about the weapon he was carrying—she'd rarely seen firearms up close, and Raj didn't have a great variety of weapons. Kifo's, to be sure, was head and shoulders better than the third world stuff made by kids equipped with their bare hands in Darra Adam Khel —it was a sleek weapon, a powerful medium machinegun of Belgium design.

"What are you looking at? Children shouldn't be so curious about guns. Go—go play with another butterfly or something," Kifo said, maneuvering his weapon to the other side of his body. "We're almost there anyway."

The kitten simply looked up at him with a sardonic expression, and shook her head.

"I thought you were cool and different," she complained. "But you're exactly the same as big brother."

* * *

Autoloading shotguns tended to have failures to feed and fire a lot when they were used with underpowered rounds and had been packed in crates with dirt and rust for months without maintenance. Ammunition, though, was almost literally available by the boatload. The Forbidden forces could waste it as much as they wanted, but nothing could change the fact that they were poor shots—they had poor bodies and poor weapons, it was to be expected.

Pumping shell after shell into the red shell around them got pretty tiring after a while. But they kept at it. There was nothing else to do.

Meanwhile, those among them that couldn't use weapons—the majority of the forces—rested and practiced alternatively. They too were overwhelming poor soldiers, with a few notable exceptions that the Lion Sheikh will reveal in due course.

Their sub-commanders marched around, increasingly restless, ensuring that their troops were remaining relatively disciplined instead of tearing one another apart as such a group would do to itself if not carefully regulated. A number of fights over gear, space, and even more trivial disagreements had taken a toll on the fighters, but not nearly as much as the fact that many of them were literally rotting where they sat. Teleportation had its drawbacks, though most were insignificant if transported troops were put to use quickly.

But when unexpected delays happened, things simply didn't work out. The population of the Forbidden forces could be modeled with a number of functions, among them Bernoulli's, the Beverton-Holt model, and simple logarithmic curves. In fact, even at this time, the Lion Sheikh is hard at work crunching the numbers and intends to release a detailed case study sometime next year—that is to say, they were dying. Quickly.

The time at which they could attack was fast approaching and inexorable, but it hadn't yet arrived. The treacherous Master of the enemy forces sulked; wisely, everyone left him alone. In the form that he was, he was liable to kill someone out of sheer impatience.

* * *

As it turned out, Kochai found herself less and less willing to disobey Freak and Kifo—at least to their faces. Although she would never admit to herself in a thousand years that she could not escape from the demon, her rationale lead to the same conclusion. They'd only just met—and she didn't want to make a bad first impression on a friend who'd be with her for quite some time.

Besides, she could always think or muscle her way out of whatever cage Kifo intended to trap her in.

She kept on thinking that right up to the very moment that Kifo looked down at her and told her to get in.

They'd stopped at the mouth of a small crevice, one barely enough for the kitten to slip into. Inside, Kochai could see, there was a hollowed-out domed structure that would give her enough room to turn around… and not much more.

"Do _not_ want," Kochai protested, putting on her best puppy eyes before looking up to Kifo. "Surely, there's somewhere else that I can be hidden, yes? No?... Then you can definitely trust me to hide far away from the fighting and not come back until everything's finished. I promise—I, that is to say, I mean, I really, certainly won't do anything truly dangerous, big brother Kifo. Please?"

Talk about poker faces. The demon hadn't reacted in the slightest to Kochai's routine, at least that's what it seemed like. For a full moment, he didn't _breathe_—then, finally, he glanced skyward and cracked a slight, terrifying smile.

* * *

Memorable words have occasionally been said before terrible, historic battles. "Hoka hey" comes to mind, as do several less flattering phrases: "oh, shit" and "Mommy!" among them.

Freak saw no reason to speak, of course. After making it clear that the force he'd taken to the northwest was to hide and hold position, the li-tigon returned back toward Pride Rock. As he did, he found himself looking, almost staring at the massive structure. He remembered the wonder he'd had when he'd seen it for the first time, so long ago—what was it, he'd wondered, and how did it get there?

He'd probably never see it again.

His paws trailed almost reluctantly through the grass around him, still standing strong and proud. The slight trail he left behind would never have been recognized by any but the most experienced hunter as the calling card of a large predator, but in a heartbeat the li-tigon could have left behind nothing. If he wanted, he could move with such stealth that he became as invisible as he had been to Kifo.

For some reason, that day was an exception to the norm. Freak wanted there to be some sign that he'd existed—he didn't want his passing to go unnoticed.

He was preoccupied, and he knew it. But he couldn't help it. It was by sheer coincidence that the li-tigon looked up just a few seconds before he'd have run headlong into his twin.

"I took care of Kochai," the demon said, looking far down at the striped feline in front of him. "Why'd you want to meet me way out here?"

The li-tigon didn't answer. His sullenness was depressingly infectious; Kifo found himself dragging his feet to follow Freak to the west-northwest.

The night before, he'd familiarized himself with the area. It saddened the demon slightly to think that the magnitude of awe he'd experienced the night before simply by opening his eyes was gone forever, due to the law of diminishing returns. Unless he could constantly keep moving on to some unexplored bit of paradise, he would—

Then, of course, Kifo realized that each new day, each new set of atmospheric conditions and weather and sunlight and cloud cover introduced a plethora of variables that he had not taken into account. He could occupy himself for the rest of his life in a twenty by twenty square if he wanted—and the Pride Lands encompassed thousands of square _miles_ easily.

Quickly, and for rather different reasons than his twin, Kifo too became silent and stoic.

The Sun was just a few degrees from being directly overhead, although it was sometimes difficult to be certain of that. Although the shield Rafiki had thrown around the Forbidden Island had reduced the stifling cloud cover that had otherwise been constant for the past months, the skies were not clear. They never would be, not until—unless—the battle was over and won.

"We're going to launch a hybrid pincer/two-pronged counteroffensive," Freak said. Perhaps he was speaking to Kifo; perhaps he was speaking to himself. Or, perhaps, he was somehow doing neither, both, or all of the above at the same time. Eyes set directly forward, scouring the approaching landscape for the most advantageous place to locate Kifo, he continued. "After the forces to your northeast attack, wait… when they start to get beaten back, that's when you move in. No one will be expecting you, so watch your fire… but the first seconds after you attack will be your time to shine. Before you're engaged, you can take out many, many enemies."

The li-tigon looked from where he'd placed the Pride Landers and Nomadic loyalists to the Forbidden Island. "Until you attack, use a suppressed gun. Protect Banzai without being found, if you can."

There was nothing more to be said, in Freak's mind. So, promptly, he turned to leave.

He moved about twenty yards before pausing and turning to speak to his twin over his shoulder—though he did not make eye contact.

"We may never see one another again," the li-tigon said. "If that's how it turns out… knowing you has been—interesting. I hope that you find what you're looking for in this life, brother. Goodbye."

He tried to smile, but couldn't. So, Freak continued on. Now, Kifo was the one being rudely silent.

* * *

The walk west was lonely and quiet. Freak found himself shaking, the slightest amount, and desperately tried to think of something, anything, that would get his mind off of what was just moments from happening. No matter how hard he tried, though, when he looked through his memories he only found combat and death. And when he looked to the future, he only saw more of the same.

He couldn't remember ever being so scared before in his life. The mind-numbing terror whose fingers slowly crept their way up the li-tigon's limbs before entering his body and clutching his innards in any icy grasp told him, constantly, to leave while he could. Indeed, running would be easy and no one would fault him for it—but still, Freak plodded forward. In the end, it wasn't the desire to protect anyone or anything that kept him movie—it was the need to end the most significant threat to _him_ once and for all. When that was done, he'd be able to live in relative peace. After all, everyone would still be a threat.

He reached his comrades and settled down in the tall, waving grasses that he knew to be in the western fringes of the Pride Lands. Silent and invisible to the forces just over a mile from them, the li-tigon watched, and waited.

No one moved, and no one breathed. And then the strange peace and serenity that endured yet in the Pride Lands suddenly broke.

Rafiki's shield died in a sea of electric sparks and flame; the resulting concussion nearly made several in Freak's core group jump where they were. Two seconds passed—and then a horrifying, earth-shattering roar raced across the land.

Freak shut his eyes and opened them very, very slowly. When he did, he could see legions of hundreds of men, wolves, gorillas and any number of other attackers flooding into the Forbidden River, racing toward the southeast and Pride Rock. There were so many of them and they were moving so quickly and with such disorder that they seemed like a single, dynamic black mass; a virus infiltrating the Pride Lands through a terrible wound in the northwest.

Soon, it would become clear whether the Pride Lands' best defenses could protect it from being overrun and destroyed—or not.

* * *

(Will update soon. Until then, this is the Lion Sheikh of fanfiction, expressing no view on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict—see you next chapter!)


	30. Nexus II: The Storm

The Lion King: The Freak

Chapter 30: Nexus II: The Storm

* * *

(Yo' _face_ has been goin' for thirty chapters. Oooooh!

In all seriousness, this chapter will be more or less all violence. There is like one "d" below, as well as one "f" closer to the end. Now then—here you are.)

* * *

Dictators, almost universally, possess great charisma. The most obvious example is, of course, the German fascist of the first half of the past century, but there are other notable tyrants similar to him. There are, of course, exceptions—Kim Jong Il has only a single sentence made in public to his name; Mullah Omar pulls in at a close second to the North Korean leader's lack of speech.

The rest, though—from Ahmadinezhad to Zelaya—tend to be very outgoing, public, in-your-face figures.

The adversary sulking in the Forbidden Islands, however, issued no speech. He published no propaganda books and he only allowed very few to actually see him in the form that he existed. He was a brooding, invisible leader—he had no desire to create legions of followers that sided with him based on how he looked and spoke. He wanted cold, logical followers, not blind cultists… and that's one of the reasons he held Dietz and the rebel Nomads back.

As the Forbidden Island slowly emptied, the lipard and his comrades watched as their Master paced, slowly, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Something was really upsetting or concerning him—but everyone present was smart enough to not mention it. The shadowed jungle that they met in only occasionally allowed in bursts of distant gunfire and shouting as sub-commanders old and new urged their troops forward in a blitzkrieg offensive—otherwise, it was silent, private, completely closed off to the rest of the world.

The rebel Nomads couldn't see their Master very well—they were not in a clearing and he was several yards from them. Even if he was brightly colored, they'd only catch brief glimpses of him; but the camouflaged, fluid form he was in melted into the forest despite its size.

A photogenic leader he was not.

"Our enemies are neither dumb nor weak," he said softly. "I have not faced foes like them ever before… …our numerical advantage… it may not be enough. They may have something in mind." He stopped. Then, slowly, he turned to face the Nomad rebels. "Dietz, your forces will not see combat today. Spread out here, in this Forbidden Island… I don't want an inch of our borders going unwatched. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Master." Dietz answered for them all, although he was only being half-truthful. He understood what they were to do, to be sure, but what he couldn't grasp was the line of reasoning that had brought their Master to such a conclusion.

He didn't have to understand his Master to obey him, though. The lipard glanced back at his forces, briefly, then jerked his head—in an instant, they scattered, moving away in all directions at a quick jog. Dietz was about to take his place among them, but his Master prevented him from leaving, briefly, but speaking in a voice so soft that the hybrid struggled to hear him.

"What's going to happen today has been in the making for generations… this day is mine. I fear nothing."

* * *

Rafiki's staff was broken, but he was not useless. He was still an accomplished fistfighter, and besides—he still had an array of detonators waiting before him.

The mandrill had taken the high ground in a tree that stood alone at the top of a gradual hill. From where he was, he could see the invading forces. Of course, no injunction could have been made against them—they were nameless, faceless, shapeless agents of evil. They could only be stopped with direct action.

With that in mind, Rafiki held up the trigger to the first line of planted chemical agents—it was nothing more than a dried, limber vine. After waiting for just one more moment, when the number of enemies endangered was maximized, the elderly shaman gave the lithe string in his hand a sharp yank.

Miles away, large chunks of the ground fell apart as powerful acid consumed them and the enemy fighters that had just been walking there.

Thousands swarmed over their disintegrating comrades.

The mandrill hit detonators two and three next. Their effectively was reduced; the invading forces spread apart somewhat so that they were less densely packed together. Soon, the entirety of the horizon was covered in black—and it was inexorably closing in.

He shut his eyes and slowly lifted a hand to his face. After hiding his countenance from the world for a moment, the old shaman drew it away, streaked with tears. So many lives were at stake, and there was almost nothing he could still do to prevent many of them—perhaps even all of them—from ceasing to be.

* * *

The Forbidden forces had emptied from their original positions—the Island itself had been abandoned. The last of the distant black fighters had crossed the Forbidden River, which again became still and placid: cold and foreboding.

"Let's go."

Freak rose, though not very much, and darted quietly across the last few yards of ground between himself and the River. Heartbeats after he began to move, his core force did as well—they moved with the precision of a finely-tuned machine, forming up around him to attack or defend as necessary.

Their entry into the water was silent and swift. The sudden drop-off that defined the Forbidden River meant that their first step off of dry ground would have plunged them all dozens of yards into a infinite, dark abyss—if they didn't swim immediately.

No one drowned, though. At least their first obstacle was not insurmountable; as Freak began to make his way to the north he judged from the silent fluctuations in the water all around him that everyone was with him. For his part, the only visible part of the li-tigon was his face—dry and resolute and hard. The trivial ripples produced by his smooth but rapid motion reflected in odd patterns the color of his ruff and his mane but not his determination: he didn't have a plan B for this one.

Perhaps coincidentally, the males of the group were to Freak's right; the females were to his left. In rough order of size but not necessarily lethality, they minimized their odds of being detected and taken for anything more harmful than a floating branch and a trick of the light.

Nala, Kiara, Usiku, and Ed had of course been part of the infiltration and resulting massacre in the Bloody Shadows. Aoi was no stranger to invasion—the Lion Sheikh has made it clear that the White Sands regularly imperialized the Black Hills. It seemed that despite his years of varied experience and dozens of combat engagements, Roderik was the one member of the core group that hadn't actually gone on the offensive ever before—he'd always fought on his enemy's terms until that day.

None of them, though, had ever fought an enemy that could only be called otherworldly.

Even Ed wasn't making any noise; the crazed, ever-optimistic chuckles that normally defined him were now completely gone. The rough phalanx that Freak's core group formed continued forward without resistance, ever making its way northward—but it was a long swim. It would be some time before they actually got to the Forbidden Island.

What happened after that, assuming they got that far without being detected… was entirely open to speculation.

* * *

Blood had been spilled in the Pride Lands before. There is, of course, the famous battle that ended Scar's regime—a brief but intense and certainly a decisive conflict that killed off dozens or even hundreds of hyenas, but, remarkably, not a single lion. This could be attributed to the fact that Scar's forces had been starving, but the lionesses he oppressed weren't exactly doing any better.

No, that historic fight was a divine act. Simba's return ended a dark period in the Pride Lands and the Spirits were only too glad to help him in his war.

We must understand the nomenclature of the Forbidden Island, however, before we can completely understand why those on the ground were alone in this fight. The Forbidden Island had been declared as such by Mohatu, when he'd first entered the Land of the Spirits and spent years of his life bringing law and order the area, formally marking borders and persuading or coercing other prides into nonviolence.

It was an area for evil to gather and fester and eventually extinguish itself as life went on everywhere else without being bothered. Whereas normally, bouts of war, disease, famine, and outright attack had to be engaged and eliminated on a cyclic basis, having a practical basin for all the woes of normal life was a reasonable tactic. Thusly, the Forbidden Island was permanently quarantined—there would be no entry and no exit, ever.

Mohatu had made a mistake, obviously. Or perhaps he'd made several mistakes, or perhaps the fault wasn't his but his descendants' for failing to keep a careful watch on their home. To be sure, Mohatu had foreseen the day that a buildup of evil might threaten to break free of the Forbidden Island—but he'd trusted that whoever was in power by then would have the brains and wisdom to take care of things.

No one had done their job, though. Not the Spirits, not those that still lived—it was systemic failure that had put them all into such a position. The same power, the same laws that allowed the Master of the Forbidden forces to beam whoever he wanted into his dark home was responsible for erecting an iron curtain between the Spirits and their creation.

The amount of blood that had been shed in the Pride Lands for its entire history would pale in comparison to the amount that would be shed that day. Many, many, _many_ were going to die—even the brutal invasion of the Bloody Shadows wouldn't compare to the actions of that day.

Only a few questions remained: the most prominent, of course, was who the victor would be? The second was, assuming that the Pride Landers won—would anything be learned in the long run by the battle fought there that day? Would anyone ever realize that evil was to be confronted whenever encountered…?

* * *

Hundreds of gallons of acid had been released—they'd create dead-zones on the land for years. The terrible fluid would seep into the earth itself and poison anything that tried to grow, and only time and constant effort would eventually roll back the effects of liberal deployment of chemical weapons.

The fact that the Pride Landers were resorting to such means to win showed how desperate they were. But despite the heavy toll Rafiki's traps had already taken on the enemy, the ones that had to actively engage them were shaking in terror the closer the Forbidden forces got.

That distant howl, the constant, terrible call for blood was loud and deep and raw, hot, evil lust in its purest form. Sheer malice of this degree was something no one had ever faced before—and it was what prevent Simba from saying a single word to his friends and family and followers, despite the fact that he would very soon no longer have a chance to.

Simba's heart was in his mouth. He tried to swallow back his fear, but the hot sludge that re-entered his gut was simply bile. He'd taken the chance, several moments prior, to peek out of cover to see their enemy—and he'd regretted it.

Their faces, and their bodies in general, had been covered in darkness. Although Simba couldn't have been certain, since he was so far away from the invading force, he was fairly sure that he'd seen a wanton jumble of torn, bleeding bodies—injured beings, all of them nearing death—still determined to have his blood and the blood of his family.

He shut his eyes for a moment, and thought back to the happier days that had been nothing more than painful, distant memories for far too long. For just a moment, Simba was a cub again—he was happily trying to wake his father up for some reason, or just because he could.

Of course, Mufasa was long dead. But, in a way, he lived on in his descendants—and the legacy of his fearless kingship would never die.

Then again, Mufasa was not entirely fearless. Simba recalled the one time he'd gotten into serious trouble with his father… that day, Mufasa had admitted that there was one thing he feared: he feared losing his son.

Simba's eyes opened; as they did, the deep lines etching into his face slowly disappeared. The expression on his face was somewhat hopeful, but it was still grim and determined and hard.

He did not fear death—not anymore. But he did fear losing… there was too much to list. His friends, his family, his kingdom—that just scratched the surface.

"I'm afraid," Simba admitted, in a tone just loud enough for those around him to hear over the shriek of the incoming forces. "And I know you are too." He turned and faced the Pride Lands' finest, and actually smiled.

For a full minute, more than a few in the group wondered if their leader had gone mad. Then, they found themselves gradually calming down, somehow simultaneously beginning to breathe hard in preparation for hours of combat.

"I don't think I have to tell anyone what's at stake," Simba murmured. He faced the hordes of Forbidden forces again, and cracked his neck. "They want to take everything from us. This isn't just a… a disagreement over borders, or hunting regulations, or leadership. We're literally fighting for our lives… we're fighting for our right to _exist_." He let that sink in for a moment. "If you want anyone to be alive in the Land of the Spirits in a thousand years, or a hundred, or ten, or one, or tomorrow… don't hold back. Don't hold back—they won't."

There was no time to answer. Not a second later, the Forbidden forces were on the Pride Landers, with such aggression and violence that anyone with the passivity and wherewithal to do so might wonder—was there any point in even trying?

* * *

The Forbidden Island had never, ever, ever, _ever_ been visited before. Legends and whispers of what existed there painted a picture of a land more dangerous and wild than the Unknown Regions in the distant southeast, where creatures unknown or unrecognized by science roamed freely as they did in the vast buffer zone between the Land of the Spirits and the rest of the world.

If Freak and his core group got out alive, everyone would want to know precisely where fact ended and mythology began in the Forbidden Island.

If they got out alive.

And they had yet to get _in_ alive.

Their progress thus far, however, was good. They moved quickly but quietly and managed not to run into any trouble, although that might have been because it seemed that every last one of the Forbidden Island's warriors had left for the invasion.

Maybe this really was doable.

Then again, Freak had only barely won his battle against Kifo. Presumably, the one that created Kifo was proportionally bigger and badder. Furthermore, the li-tigon didn't have any idea of what he would be up against this time around—he'd just have to do the best he could without really knowing what he was getting himself into. Of course, that's how he'd done things for the majority of his life.

They were not moving in as slowly as they might have—to completely trade speed for stealth increased the time that the rest of the Pride Landers and Nomads would be putting their lives on the line. Still, their progress was extremely quiet and extremely difficult to see, owing to the roughness of the Forbidden River. They'd spread apart, somewhat, and as they got closer to the Forbidden Island they began to swim underwater, mostly, only coming up for air when a high wave barred them from whoever, or whatever might be watching them.

In this manner, the core group got to within ten feet of the Forbidden Island before they had to show themselves. The bottomless trench between their home and its deadly neighbor ended abruptly—and the second they crossed from no man's land to Forbidden territory, they felt it in their hearts.

The Forbidden Island's shores were black. They were not composed of sand, but soot and chipped, blackened bits of stone instead. For a moment, Freak got used to the feeling of it under his paws—or, rather, he tried to. He then decided that he would likely be unsuccessful even if he spent hours doing so, and that he didn't want to be acclimated to the Forbidden Island in even the slightest way.

The surface of the water was relatively static, for a time, as the chilled waves of the River broke against their Island rhythmically. Then it broke like a shattered pane of glass as one, then two then three then five then seven powerful, deadly figures emerged from the depths.

Freak checked his left and then his right—both were clear. Fortunately, there were only a few feet of open space before a thick jumble of thorned branches and shrubbery began—without examining the area for very long, the li-tigon moved forward and then dived over a treacherous mess of dried plantlife.

Hidden from view, he turned his head several degrees and then jerked it—a heartbeat later, the rest of his core group followed.

They were in the Forbidden Island.

"Take cover," Freak murmured, "and keep your eyes open. I need to have a look around…"

His orders were followed immediately; to be honest, none of his six core fighters needed much persuading to dive into the nearest bit of foliage and hiding. Although Freak was apparently without fear, they were not—even Usiku, the biggest BAMF of the group, couldn't help but look around with a wariness that exceeded the natural caution of exploring a new part of the world.

It has been said that there only exists order in the universe because things that are disordered—in other words, things that clash with or contradict one another—do not exist by the very definition of reality. Freak might have been sold this philosophical view despite the pandemonium he'd experienced in his life until that very moment, when he took several seconds to lay eyes on the Forbidden Island.

He couldn't have conceived of a less hospitable environment if he tried. The loose black soot that had formed the shores continued into the island, though there was no more than a few millimeters of it at any point—it didn't buffer impacts or footfalls on the unyielding slate rock underneath in the slightest. The plants that grew in the Forbidden Island seemed to have been thrust up from below ground, somehow, although Freak didn't see how that was possible.

Gnarled, twisting branches with no apparent source and no apparent end raced all across the island at varying altitudes—ground level, shoulder level, face level, and well higher than that in some cases. Shrubbery of the short that Aoi had unwisely jumped through, ending up with a series of superficial but painful cuts across the face and shoulders was common—a twisting explosion of slender vines that seemed to suspend themselves in midair. They had no leaves, but sported frighteningly large, sharp spines along their entire respective lengths.

These and all other manner of unnatural forms of life defined the nature of the Forbidden Island—and yes, the Lion Sheikh recognizes the contradiction in terms. It's called a "compositional risk"—look it up.

Freak had no desire to stay in such a dangerous, hostile part of the world for a second longer than he had to. With that in mind and a growing sense of nausea in his gut, the li-tigon looked left, then right—then jerked his head. It was time to get moving.

As they'd done on their trip to the Forbidden Island, the core group moved swiftly but silently. Racing with their bellies low to the ground, they gradually reorganized themselves into two side-by-side lines, with, of course, their leader at the vanguard. In this manner, they all covered one another while minimizing their presence. A larger formation might be safer, but it would also increase their chances of being noticed.

What none of them did know, however, was that they'd already been spotted. And even as they continued to penetrate the Forbidden Island's outer forests, they were being engaged.

* * *

Long before the invading forces were even close to the rest of the Pride Landers, Banzai had opened fire. Although the incoming waves of darkness were far outside of any range that he could chuck rocks accurately, he had no need to aim—the entire northwestern region of the Pride Lands was swarming with enemy forces. All the hyena had to do was launch his deadly projectiles as rapidly as he possibly could.

Even at that distance, he could watch the vicious weapons strike and explode, covering the invaders with their deadly payloads. There had initially been the concern that the Pride Landers themselves might be killed by infected enemies—but some weeks back, Rafiki had taken the time to completely immunize everyone against the biological agents' terrible effects.

Banzai was all alone, far from the fighting and the danger. He was letting loose with every fiber of his being, though—and he noted that at the rate he was firing, he would run out of ammunition very, very soon.

When that happened, he grimly noted to himself, he would see once and for all if he'd recovered from his injuries to any appreciable degree.

He'd learned a lot about the combat arts from Rafiki and Kovu. Soon, it would be time to apply what he'd learned to his scarred, twisted, atrophied limbs.

* * *

The hordes of Forbidden forces sprinted past the built-up formation that the Pride Landers had hidden behind at the rate of dozens per second. For just a moment, Simba held his forces back, intending to burst out of cover and gain the upper hand in the few vital seconds during which aggressions were initiated.

A major wrench in his plans came, however, when a hissing, snarling pack of attack dogs dived over the top of their brief wall of cover. The rotting mutts were in no condition to fight, and although they managed to successfully tackle down two Nomad loyalists, they were dead by the time anyone turned to look.

The Pride Landers' counteroffensive had been delayed, however, and the indent in the invading forces that a concentrated, uniform attack would have caused did not come to be. Rather, just a second after the surprise assault had been launched, the rest of the Forbidden fighters turned and charged.

Simba was forcibly shoved back several yards back by the combined efforts of three broad-shouldered gorillas. The intensity of the attack put him on the defensive, for a second, as the small bubble of Pride Landers in the sea of darkness shrank—

Then, they started to fight back.

The former King planted his feet and deftly blocked a ham hock-sized fist intended to crush his skull. Then, he sliced two of his attackers' bellies open with a fast but deep horizontal claw strike. The two fell back as Simba began to exchange blows with the third—but then, Simba realized that he was applying the wrong set of battle tactics.

He wasn't fighting to kill his enemies and he wasn't fighting a small, highly-skilled squad of attackers. His enemies numbered in the thousands, and although they were very nearly pushovers on their own, they attacked wisely and in groups.

If Simba hadn't broke off his attack just then, he would have been flanked and taken with his trousers down by three smaller apes armed with crude clubs and one rifle—instead, the red-maned lion was able to shove the barrel of the gun out of the way before taking one monkey's head.

The front was holding, for the moment, but quickly the area was getting oversaturated with enemy forces. It wouldn't be long before some slip-up, some oversight broke the Pride Landers' circle, and allowed the Forbidden infection entry. Then, it would only be a matter of time.

For now, however, they were holding their ground.

Despite the fact that they were vastly outnumbered, the Pride Landers soon found a pattern that minimized their injuries and prevented any one fighter from going at it constantly for very long. Cyclically, they'd alternate between fighting and covering one another, ensuring that no one was flanked or attacked in a way that would severely harm them.

Such a system could be maintained, but not for very long. The Forbidden fighters' methods were unwashed and extremely predictable; the problem was just that there were so damned many of them. The adversaries were not entirely mindless and stupid: they adapted to the ones they were fighting. It was no coincidence that it was only the rare Forbidden attacker that jumped into the fray without watching, at least for a few seconds.

The constant, oppressive force of the assault was intended to deteriorate the Pride Landers' form and injure them, at least somewhat. When the best efforts the Pride Landers could output ran out, _then_ the Forbidden army would press its advantage and exterminate the lions and hyenas down to the last one.

* * *

Dying friends, the possibility thereof, was, among other things, great motivation. Simple curiosity or boredom couldn't have quickened and silenced the core group's footsteps so effectively.

Freak, however, knew that their progress was too fast and too smooth. Any reasonably skeptical person would note that the li-tigon only had the slightest amount of corroborating evidence to back up the claim that a powerful, premeditated attack was imminent—but over the years, Freak had learned to trust his instincts.

If time wasn't an issue, he'd have stopped in his tracks and simply waited for the attack to come to him. By continuing to move, the li-tigon was likely leading his troops into a trap, but he'd made his decision: he would accept whatever was coming to them in the interests of moving faster.

Trading some lives for others was never an enjoyable course of action. Lifeboat situations, however, invalidated one set of ethics and replaced it with another.

The assault on the core group's senses was difficult to understate. The scent of death and decay was everywhere—everything was black or deep, cold gray—and even the ground itself was unpleasantly jagged to the touch. Nothing was familiar and everything was terrible and disgusting in its own way—but still, Roderik knew his nephew when he smelled him.

_"Dietz… so, you joined them."_

"Hostiles left," the bearded lion warned—a second later, the group began to strafe, still moving toward the center of the Island while facing the described direction.

For some time, it seemed that Roderik might have been mistaken. And then the attack began.

Unlike most of the Lion Sheikh's villains, who monologue or attempt to negotiate before starting to fight, the former Nomads simply tore out of the wilderness and attacked from three fronts, all from the left.

Five rebels had survived Roderik and the miniature war with the White Army, it seemed, besides Dietz himself. So, the core invaders outnumbered their adversaries, slightly—but the odds were still stacked against them.

That was because the rebels had been _over_powered by their Master.

They were proportioned like normal lions but scaled up by a significant factor. On average, they were several hundred pounds heavier than Kovu at his apex weight, but there wasn't an ounce of fat on them. Muscular flesh twisted with unnatural definition beneath their fur—blunt attacks would be ineffective against them, and the sheer solidity of their bodies meant that it would take more than a few bites or claws to do any real damage.

Worse yet, they were _fast_. Freak had tangoed with extremely agile, swift foes before, of course, but none could compare to the Nomad rebels. Freak didn't have time to think—he could only react, giving most of his brainpower to his instincts while a small corner of his mind struggled to think of some strategy with which to take down the Forbidden Island's defensive corps.

They'd come one behind the other—Roderik had raced directly toward the core group's formation with another rebel hot on his tail. Two other groups had moved in at his sides before swooping outward and then converging back toward the forward and rear parts of Freak's formation in a sort of frontal assault combined with a pincer maneuver.

Freak had been able to dodge the two super-lions racing toward him. The two behind him—Roderik and Nala—weren't so lucky.

The Nomad rebels simply barreled through their opposition, lowering their shoulders and charging so that when they struck, all but Aoi and Ed glanced off their upper backs and were launched into the air. And although three of the formation had managed to avoid injury, the attack had worked as planned—the core group was split up and could no longer fight as a unit. And in one-on-one engagements were heavily skewed toward rebel victory. Maybe the same was even true for _two -on-one_ engagements.

Interestingly, however, two of the Nomadic rebels came at Freak, forcing him into a long, rapid retreat. The six other core invaders were left to fight four super-lions—and maybe like that they had a chance.

However, if Freak was killed, they were all finished.

The li-tigon couldn't strike back; he simply didn't have time to do so. He could only run backwards nearly as fast as he could, swapping his attention between his two attackers and the terrain around him. He'd entered, at some point, a vicious rockland of sorts even more fraught with perilous falls and dangerously sharp, jagged pieces of stone than the region to the south of the Dark Forest—it took a great deal of control to avoid a single misstep which could kill or injure Freak just as easily as his foes.

He was nearly panicking, though, but not because he didn't know what to do. In a number of other situations without clear positive options he'd managed to keep a cool head, because he could endure for at least a few minutes while he figured things out.

But it had been quite some time since the li-tigon felt so weak and slow and doomed.

Thus far, he'd managed to escape injure through sheer luck. He could hardly see his attackers most of the time—to him, they were nothing more than blurs that he either ducked and dived or jumped over to avoid. Presumably, from the rough vectors of motion he sometimes saw he could extrapolate what sort of attack had barely missed splitting him in two, but that was it. He had no idea what was going on for the most part beyond the fact that he was losing, and badly.

Freak tested the strength of his enemies, then, and purposefully didn't completely dodge one upward-angled strike. He moved the thickest part of his shoulder in the way of the blow, however, so that it wouldn't connect with his muzzle.

A second later, the li-tigon was flying through the air and thoroughly regretting his decision.

He managed to land on his feet, barely clinging to a rough bit of terrain preceding a long drop to who knew what. His entire foreleg was rapidly numbing—but he had an idea.

His enemies vastly outstripped him in speed and power but perhaps not reaction time. If they did, then Freak would have been dead long before. They didn't seem to be quite as quick-thinking as he was either, because even basic teamwork would have told them to attack from different directions rather than barreling toward him one after the other—or at the very least hold still and exchange blows.

Maybe they were only capable of attacking in that one way—streaking toward Freak like a lightning bolt and coming again for more a second later _if_ the li-tigon barely dodged death.

Regardless, Freak knew of only one way to take down such an enemy. Hopefully it would work because if it didn't, it would be game over in mere seconds.

This time, when the familiar blur raced toward him, Freak held his ground and watched carefully. First, a wave of pressure rolled over him as the Nomadic rebel forced air forward and out of his way—but the li-tigon ignored it. He saw only his enemy and the massive lion's open jaws, ready and intending to bite him in two—but he also saw his chance.

Freak had never moved so fast in his life. Perhaps he'd come close, several times, but there was no question in his mind—the force of will that had moved his body so rapidly must have been strong, because the feat he accomplished seemed physically impossible.

The li-tigon got down almost like he was sprawling on the ground for a nap, but he was simply getting the bulk of his body out of the way. Some momentum would be transferred and there was no avoiding that, but anything more than a light push would knock Freak down into the same abyss into which he intended to put his enemy.

While the rear half of his body twisted out of the way, Freak reached forward with his left paw while his right appendage moved upward. Totally off the ground, the li-tigon was no longer in control of his actions—he'd just have to hope that he'd timed things right.

His claws extended just in time—as his left paw came down, his enemy's moved directly in its path. A heartbeat later, Freak had pinned the Nomad's paw to the ground, skewering the lean flesh with his claws. His right paw continued its brief journey upward but with a burst of intuition, Freak threw his head back.

The Nomad's jaws snapped shut a centimeter from his face, close enough to trim the li-tigon's whiskers—and aside from that close call, the li-tigon's counter had worked flawlessly.

Now, Freak's right paw struck his enemy under the chin, inches from shattering his throat. The open blow stunned him, but that wasn't the purpose—Freak turned farther and shoved, holding his left paw down as long as he possibly could.

Of course, the Nomad didn't simply roll over and die. He lashed out with his own paws, but both hasty blows missed Freak—barely. Now, he was the one being controlled by the flow of the engagement.

As the li-tigon continued to press, he decreased the amount of force with which he was driving his left paw's claws into the ground. The rear half of his body continued with the arc of motion the li-tigon had put on it when he'd first dropped, taking it safely out of the way.

Freak felt the flesh in his claws tear and knew that he'd done his job well. The Nomad could not stop his momentum and he could not regain his footing or even grab the ground and hold still—in a fluid maneuver reminiscent of an aikido flip, Freak had cleanly thrown him over the edge of the cliff.

He had to hand it to his opponent, though—he was a disciplined and deadly fighter professional enough to not even scream as he fell to a jagged, messy death. As Freak slid to his feet, anticipating the second attacker, he considered how he'd take him down—but then he realized something very odd.

The second Nomad moved toward him with an almost desperate speed, face contorted with something besides rage and the dark desire for revenge. It was almost like he was racing to reach Freak before something happened—

Then, in time with a nasty _crack_ from behind Freak, the second Nomad simply fell apart. Stunned, Freak stood still and simply watched as a loose, charred collection of bones and burned flesh disintegrated and continued forward, bouncing across the ground and through the air.

At the last second, the li-tigon turned aside and shut his eyes. The sooty-smelling refuse washed over him, leaving a grayish residue behind on his coat… but he had lived. He had defeated not one but _two_ of the Forbidden Island's best.

Wincing the slightest amount as he turned, inadvertently putting just a little too much weight on his hurt foreleg, Freak began to move. Ironically, the structure of the rockland around him seemed to be biased against entry, not exit—without too much care, the li-tigon was able to sprint back toward the forest.

After all, he'd won his battle. The rest of his core group, however, was in deep trouble.

* * *

Now that it came to it, Kifo found that he really had no desire whatsoever to fight. This, after all, was not his battle—his conflict was a thousand miles away, across and ocean and so far removed from the current situation that it practically existed in an alternate universe.

Even that fight, however, did not particularly appeal to the demon.

He wasn't sure what he wanted; he noted that to himself apathetically as the battle began. Clamor, like blood and torn-off body parts, rose into the air from the Pride Landers' front—it annoyed him and made him glare at the scene, angrily clutching his weapon.

But now that he was no longer an eternally angry reactionary, Kifo knew better than to simply dive in. He forced himself to calm down and think, or at least try to.

His mind didn't cooperate, though. Despite the logical part of him that said that there was no sense in getting involved, the demon only saw himself fighting and dying alongside the Pride Landers every time he thought even a second into the future.

Maybe it was best, then, to simply retract all the energy he was outputting and simply focus on himself. He could think through this, he knew he could—but, rather pointedly, the demon ignored the possibility that he might not reach a decision soon enough. It was only a matter of time, after all, until he was found and engaged.

Kifo shut his eyes as the war for the soul of the Pride Lands, and the entire Land of the Spirits, raged on before him. From where he was, he could have had an absolutely awesome view of the fight—awesome in the same way that it would be awesome to have a front row seat to a forest fire. Cries of anguish, terror, pain and impending victory fought to rise above one another, resulting in nothing more than an oppressively loud din that hammered its way past the mental blocks Kifo had thrown up in an attempt to remove the biases of the moment.

Was fighting in his best interests? Even assuming that the Pride Landers were worth fighting for… surely, there were other, more stable, more peaceful, less war-prone beings in the world. It might take him some time, but surely if he applied himself Kifo could associate himself with another group of people… another group of friends.

That final word gave the demon pause. Now that he thought of it, he'd never really had friends—never in his life, not even when he was young. There were people he spoke to, of course, though they didn't number very highly… but there had been no one that Kifo could fairly call a friend.

The same was true for the Pride Landers, he noted. Except… there was a chance—the slightest chance—that in the future, maybe even the near future…

The hope was too remote and fragile to be fully thought. Kifo couldn't even say it to himself in his mind, but he'd made his decision. He wasn't going to fight for his friends—he was going to fight for who might someday become his friends because he had no other option.

Kifo rose with his deadliest weapon ready and loaded. He'd waited the perfect amount of time; by then the Forbidden forces had swarmed around the Pride Landers, packed tightly together and facing away from him. Clumps of torn earth were thrown up by the thousands of feet that pressed their owners forward toward their enemies, creating a slippery, muddy pit that would remain as a monument to the battle fought there for years.

The demon held his weapon at his hip; its pronged muzzle still black and cool to the touch. But Kifo pressed the trigger and held it down, gradually building up a roar in his throat until it drowned out the sound of his gun's automatic action—soon, the entire barrel of the weapon was red hot and smoking.

* * *

The only ones still standing by the time Freak got back were Usiku and Aoi. Roderik and Kiara were down, but probably alive.

Ed and Nala… were to be thought of later.

Fighting back to back was an excellent strategy when outnumbered, but when grievously overpowered it was sure to end in failure. For that reason, the last two that remained stayed several dozen meters from one another—far enough to have room to maneuver and dodge and retaliate, but close enough to help.

Aoi had gotten lucky early on in the engagement—a swipe designed to separate her head from her shoulders had missed, barely. A vicious, bleeding contusion spread from her nose to her forehead; the profane black-purple of the wound contrasting with her pale fur. Smashed red blood cells, half-coagulated, leaked from the injury to impede her vision somewhat—but she couldn't spare a second to wipe it away.

She'd elected to leapfrog from tree to tree, so, at least, she could be reasonably certain that an attack wouldn't come from one angle. Just after she'd broke off to engage her own pair of Nomads, they'd come at her from behind—but the attack had failed. Aoi had turned just in time to see the tree absorb the beginning of an inward claw-strike and lashed out, seeing an opportunity: and as a result, she'd taken at least two square feet of skin off her attacker's side. If his core wasn't protected by dozens of pounds of lean muscle, she probably would have gutted him.

That slight victory had given the lioness the courage to fight _hard_. But even as she parried a lunging paw aimed to grab her by the throat, she could not ignore the fact that she couldn't keep up with enemies of this caliber—they were wearing her down, and fast.

Usiku was faring somewhat better, but not very. He was quite well-built from a lifetime of combat and harsh training; for that reason, he could take a bit more abuse than she. His was a more direct combat style; he met force with force. Rather than parrying and dodging he blocked and sometimes even struck back—but the problem was that his foe was moving so fast that he couldn't pick his targets. More often than not, his blows struck the most well-protected parts of his enemies' bodies—the shoulder and the upper chest.

The situation was slowly deteriorating. Without some sort of miracle or divine intervention, there was no chance that Aoi _or_ Usiku—much less the both of them—could turn their battles around and win. And with the sky still clouded and gray, it seemed inexorable that their fate was death.

But, despite all appearances to the contrary, maybe it was possible that the Spirits still had some influence on the matters of the world. Maybe they could send help still, from time to time.

If that was so, then Freak was a savior angel. Even if it wasn't, he was as good as the same for both Aoi and Usiku—they would surely be lost without him.

Perhaps metaphorically, then, he entered from an unexpected direction—skyward. Of course, Freak hadn't been para-dropped into the area (as cool as that would have been), he'd raced through the trees, silent and unseen by his dogmatic foes, and when the time was right he had struck down with all the fury of a thunderbolt.

The collision of bodies was analogous to the collision of cultures going on in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict—err, the European-Muslim—the Chechen-Russian—it was literally groundbreaking. Freak launched himself off a thick branch at a downward angle, hammering down on his prey with the combined weight of his body and the power of his leap.

He went for the gusto with that strike, knowing that he would be unexpected—the rebels would have thought that even then their comrades were wiping the floor with his cold, dead body. He knew that he wouldn't—couldn't—miss and therefore he actually acted without a plan B for one brief second in his life.

When he entered open air, Freak was to the rough two o'clock of his enemy. When he struck, he did so to the exposed flesh between the Nomad's ribcage and hind legs.

He'd held his paws out in front of him almost like he was diving, though the medium into which he hoped to enter was somewhat more static than water. Now, Freak was the ethereal blur that seemed to defy logic, reason, gravity and several other physical constants—now, the rebels were the ones that were shocked and unsure of what to do.

That last part, that was synthesis on the Lion Sheikh's part. They didn't have time to know what had hit them, much less think about it.

A millisecond before Freak hit, he moved his paws the slightest distance apart and turned them to face outward. The increase in his drag constant would have significantly increased the air resistance to the vector of his path, therefore dropping his speed by a significant degree if he'd done so any earlier—that's how fast he was moving. Now, though, the li-tigon was able to retain the shock and stunning power of an all-out tackle while getting his claws into his enemy's flesh.

The Nomad tripped; Freak expected it. There wasn't much he could do, though, to prevent himself from bouncing all around as he and his enemy somersaulted head over heels, colliding with various spiked plants and bits of rough foliage. The rebel was incapable of fighting back; his paws moved lightning fast, yes, but he didn't have the reaction time to control them. He was actually quite likely to injuring himself by moving about too much and for that reason he simply fell still, allowing friction to bring him to an eventual halt.

They'd cleared a path through the hostile environment of the Forbidden Island, coming to rest in a bloody, messy ball some dozens of yards away. This entire act had taken place in perhaps two seconds—Aoi had watched for about half that time before collapsing out of exhaustion and injury. Freak had cut it a lot closer than he'd realized.

During the entire time that the li-tigon had been in contact with his enemy, he'd been hard at work, tearing, pulling, ripping, biting, cutting through the rock-hard slab of muscle protecting the Nomad's internals. He'd already seriously wounded his enemy by damaging his core, where most of his power came from—but Freak didn't stop there. Even grievously injured, such a creature was a gigantic threat. The fight had to finish as soon as possible.

Owing to the sudden change in direction of his leader, the second Nomad in the two-man team that had pursued Aoi was unable to pursue immediately. He tried to go after Freak at the last minute but blew hopelessly past the attacking li-tigon, leaving his leader to fend for himself.

Eventually, the rebel that Freak was viciously engaging managed to mount something of a counterattack, twisting around and striking the li-tigon several times—hard. The li-tigon pressed his attack for just a moment before leaving, shredding the rebel's skin with his claws in the process.

Bleeding profusely and in severe pain, the rebel hissed, viciously, so loudly that Freak's ears flattened to the back of his head. He got up and sprinted toward the li-tigon, tearing his way through the rough foliage that they'd landed amongst—or, rather, he tried to. The second he willed motion to the lower half of his body, he felt a dull sort of coldness underlying the waves of white-hot pain racking his mind.

And then he looked down.

Freak hadn't attacked the softest, least muscular and therefore the most vulnerable part of his foe's form; the underbelly: just behind the ribcage but above the powerful muscles of the legs. Instead, he'd gone for the area just next to his enemy's spine. In the process, he'd managed to break through the rebel's last rib before slicing through thick, long bunches of muscle—then, he'd struck at his actual target in the last second.

Now, the rebel was paralyzed from where Freak had attacked him and down. When he realized this, he bared his teeth and stood on his two functioning legs, staring his enemy dead in the eye. He might be fatally wounded, but he was not going to roll over and die.

Besides, it wasn't like Freak's victory was guaranteed—far from it. There was an entire additional two-lion team for him to struggle against—who, the Lion Sheikh might add, were still hard at working breaking down Usiku's defenses… the second member of the group that had been taking Aoi down notwithstanding.

In fact, it might now be said that Freak had a more difficult job because the situation had changed again—when the second Nomad attacked he purposefully came at Freak in such a way that the li-tigon had a hard time dodging without getting too close to the first Nomad. Constantly circling his paralyzed foe was a quick fix but not a cure by any means—the second rebel was still extremely capable and now that he had Freak in his sights, he couldn't be surprised.

There wasn't much time to do so, but Freak managed to look around—no, there were no serious environmental hazards around. There was a mess of rigid, spined bushes not far off but that wasn't enough to take down a juiced-up Eastern Nomad.

Maybe, then, Freak was looking at things the wrong way. Rather paradoxically, the answer didn't seem to be to come at things from a different angle or in some new manner—it was to meet his foe head on.

No, seriously.

This time, when the rebel came toward him, Freak held his ground. He didn't take his eyes off the approaching force for a heartbeat, didn't blink—he'd have to time and aim this strike perfectly in order to pull it off—otherwise, he'd be injured more than his opponent.

If you really have no idea what Freak intended to do next, then clearly the Lion Sheikh hasn't been clear enough about what the li-tigon's signature attack was: a simple headbutt.

Freak had already planted his feet in the coarse, rocky soil some seconds earlier. When he pushed off, they depressed into the ground with such force that his footprint wouldn't vanish from the Forbidden Island for five full years.

The strike was somewhat inaccurate, but it managed to fit into the narrow margin of error implicit to such a maneuver. Freak had intended to drive the thickest, toughest part of his skull into his enemy's soft, fleshy nose—but he was an inch blow. The brunt of the force delivered was concentrated on the union of the rebel's snout and upper lip, where a high concentration of nerves designed to warn against danger to the upper teeth meant that a significant strike could bring about a knockout with ease.

Freak struck that small region so hard that the Nomad's entire front row of teeth cracked into broken, bloody bits.

Of course, the li-tigon himself was rather stunned by being the medium through which such a massive amount of force was transferred. He managed to recover before his enemy, however, and that was what enabled him to finish things quickly.

The rebel was bleeding profusely from his mouth: Freak had shattered the bone that created the structure for the roof of his mouth. The entire front part of his muzzle was pushed a few inches back so that the Nomad had a macabre underbite—but he wasn't fatally wounded. His claws and forelegs were still quite functional, and these were weapons deadly enough to make a dazed, bleeding Freak race forward and go directly for the rebel's throat.

The li-tigon only fully regained consciousness when his enemy was dead in his grasp. Rather than surgically cutting an artery or simply tearing his foe's entire throat out, Freak had clamped down and wriggled his jaws from side to side, slightly, increasing the cavities torn by his teeth while choking his enemy to death.

Blood was something Freak had tasted practically every day of his life—he was familiar with the cuprous aftertaste and the general warm, meaty flavor as well as the subtle distinctions between the plasma makeup of various prey—and predator—animals.

This rebel, though… tasted _different_.

All at once, Freak's jaws shut—with the rebel's neck still in between them. The pressure exerted by those two unyielding walls of flesh and bone necessarily forced the not insignificant amount of cartilage and muscle between them in one of two directions—up, or down.

Of course, the li-tigon's jaws were not perfectly perpendicular to the ground. The manner in which they were tilted and the fact that he'd bitten near the base of the rebel's neck forced most of his larynx and the attached flesh up—into his mouth.

Slowly, somewhat shocked at what he'd done, Freak set his enemy down. At least the last second, it seemed, the rebel's eyes had opened wide in surprise at what was happening—and that's how he'd died.

For a moment, the li-tigon looked down at his foe. Resting on a bed of dry, bent grass somewhat reminiscent of overgrown, dirty fingernails, the rebel's casket would have to be closed thanks to what Freak had done to him.

There was some sadness, of course. If only Freak had had more time and if only he was a little bit stronger, a little bit faster, a little bit smarter—then he could have talked his enemy out of fighting—but no. Of course, there was no guilt; Freak had done what he'd had to… but if only there was another option.

Freak reached forward and shut his enemy's eyes. Then, he faced the still standing, still paralyzed lion some twenty yards from his position.

Aoi had recovered by then and after seeing that Freak had the situation under control, she loped off to take the pressure off of Usiku—they only needed to hold out for a few seconds while Freak finished his remaining enemy. Hopefully, by the time this terrible battle was over, Roderik and Kiara might be better—maybe even Ed and Nala would be on their feet again. Things seemed to be going quite well—so far, anyway.

* * *

Banzai saw a cluster of explosions appear at the western flanks of the torrent of invaders and knew that Kifo had done his job. The demon's sudden support wiped out dozens or _hundreds_ of Forbidden fighters, owing to how weak and densely packed they were—but thousands more were still approaching, and the ones that had been held back to suppress the Pride Landers after they'd been weakened by the grunts of the army were not pushovers. A thick, hazy dark band stretched from the scene of the battle to the horizon.

There was still a lot of work to be done.

Banzai had a healthy amount of ammunition left, and was quite glad that he and Rafiki had spent so much time preparing the munitions—he'd taken a deadly toll on his enemies and had actually slowed their advance by concentrating his fire on a few select locations, turning several square yards of terrain into disease concentrations that the invaders had to circle around in order to press on.

Now, the hyena was concentrating on creating a vast swath of decay not far from the Pride Landers—that way, it would take time for the enemies on the front lines against them to be replaced. If Banzai could significantly decrease the rate at which the Pride Landers had to engage their enemies, he'd take a lot of heat off of them.

The hyena's mind had mostly shut down as he concentrated on a simple, cold regimen: fire, reload, and then rinse and repeat. He might not have been in the heat of the battle but he could feel his friends' pain—and he had no intention of allowing this to be their last day alive.

Despite the clouds overhead, the sky was actually a somewhat pleasant shade of red-orange, at least in the distance. If the adversaries were defeated, the rest of the light in the sky could shine in—

There was a group of approaching dark patches in the sky. Banzai thought at first that they were just a puff of cloud—but then he realized that they were moving fast… and against the wind.

"Crebain from Dunland!" Banzai swore—nah, just kidding. This is no LotR-Lion King crossover, though the Lion Sheikh admits that that would be pretty sweet.

The special attack group that had been dispatched to take the hyena down was well-suited to its task. The force was comprised of fliers—two dozen or so avians including hawks and a few large, hook-billed African eagles in addition to, impossibly, a pterodactyl. All were black, mostly, but had red tattoos or war-paints crisscrossing them—that suggested that this group was one that had been given special attention by its Master.

Clearly, whoever was leading the Forbidden Island's offensive was taking an active role in understanding what was going on and how best to secure victory. This wasn't a bum rush—this was a planned, dynamic assault.

That was bad news, but Banzai took it well. Although the enemy seemed to recognize what a heavy toll he was taking on their forces, they'd underestimated his ability to engage purpose-built attack groups designed to destroy him—hopefully, anyway. The fliers needed to go down in order for Banzai to keep shooting—so, the hyena's course of action was simple.

Firing at moving targets was always tricky, but these were rapidly moving, approaching targets. They probably weren't extremely agile, owing to their size and the fact that even then, they were dropping altitude rapidly to bear down on him suggested that they would not be able to dodge well—but Banzai couldn't afford any chances.

He fired the first shot as fast as he possibly could, launching it at approximately the speed of a paintball—roughly 270 to 300 feet per second. Of course, being that the launched projectile wasn't exactly spherical, it did not travel in a straight path. Banzai, however, was used to the predictable manner in which the oblong fruit shells swayed and bounced in midair—his aim was deadly accurate.

The first projectile hit its mark, exploding in the sky to rain down a shower of toxic biological ordnance. Satisfyingly, the shot took down not only the bird it had struck by two flanking wingmen. The gourd had been filled to nearly bursting and when it had been broken, it exploded violently, disrupting the flight path of the survivors.

The second shot missed, however, due to the erratic manner in which the attackers were now flying. Banzai aimed carefully, however, as the attack group reconstituted and approached to dangerous vicinity—and launched two gourds with one deft blow.

Neither projectile hit the approaching fliers, but that's precisely what Banzai wanted. Rather than go for a direct shot, the hyena had improvised and taking advantage of the fact that the gourds would not travel straight—furthermore, he'd observed that while they could take the sudden impulse of actually being fired, after that, their shells deteriorated rapidly.

The gourds struck one another perhaps twenty feet away from the attack wing. One seam broke, then two, and then the shells shredded as their contents pressed outward, eager to populate the new space they'd been exposed to: the result was a wet, greenish cloud approximately ten feet in diameter directly before the approaching fliers.

There was no time to dodge, and as a result, all attackers were covered in a thick layer of festering grime. Flying was made difficult for all of them and impossible for another three—encumbered by the additional weight, they stumbled and flailed about in midair before finally, messily falling. The rest thought that they were okay for a moment… and then the agents covering them began to do their work, seeping into orifices and open wounds.

The pain began shortly.

For a few seconds, it was bearable, but then it simply became too great for the fliers to take. Some tried to brush themselves off with talons lined with rows of spikes and succeeded only in injuring themselves further. After that, they either fell back or fell apart, dying quickly as the diseases overwhelmed them and converted their bodies into digested mush.

Some survived longer. Others were in good enough condition that they'd be able to attack Banzai—but the only one relatively unharmed by the biological dispersion was the pterodactyl.

Wisely, he'd shut his eyes and tucked into a torpedo-like projectile, moving through the dangerous cloud as quickly as possible. For a few seconds after he got out he felt a burning, crawling sensation all over his body but as he flapped hard to regain stability and increase speed, he managed to shake off the worst of the disease—although the fliers directly behind him did not fare well as a result of that.

Now, the attack group was just under a hundred yards away. Banzai couldn't move fast enough to fight them or dodge them in the traditional way—his best hope, if things came to hand-to-hand, was to wrestle his attackers into submission. With so many of them left, though… that could be difficult.

Banzai only had one chance to fire left. So, he placed _three_ gourds before him and launched them all before bracing himself—this was not going to be easy.

* * *

The enemy was slow to react to Kifo's sudden assault, and that meant that the demon had been able to level at least a hundred invaders before they got too close for him to safely use his grenade launcher. He noticed, however, that his surprise attack combined with Banzai's supporting fire had taken a lot of pressure off of the Pride Landers—they were no longer surrounded and had to fight on all fronts.

Kifo, now, was recognized as the main threat.

Instead of going into a blind rage as he normally might, Kifo remained relatively level-headed—jumpy and of course angry, but level-headed. The waves of darkness reached out to him, screaming incoherently and waving all manner of weapons, but the demon prevailed and fought back with a belt-fed fired from the hip.

At close range, Kifo might actually have a difficult time facing such an onslaught. He'd taken a large group of hostiles at medium-close range once before, but that was when the White Army had been taken off guard and was easily scattered by the work of twin Ingram submachineguns.

This was completely different.

Fortunately, however, he was only being attacked from one front. Making up for the fact that it didn't fire nearly as fast as a handheld submachinegun, Kifo's current weapon overpenetrated reliably and to stunning effect—each shot not only severely injured or killed its target, but one, two, three, or even four fighters behind it as well.

The demon had dropped to a knee, aiming more carefully now as his foes got to within a hundred yards. It was true that most of them were blindly rushing, but now and then he would see the flash of a rifle's report—less often, he'd feel the bite of a bullet against his chest. The enemies' attempts scarcely made him flinch, though—but as they got closer yet, Kifo did began to pull back.

If he could create two different fronts for the Forbidden Island to attack, he could stretch enemy forces thin and force reinforcements to decide between taking him or the Pride Landers. Even the slightest give in their assault would mean that either he or the other defending force would break free of general combat and launch a counter-offensive—so this two-pronged defense strategy was brilliant in a way that the demon had only begun to realize.

By then, Kifo was walking backward quickly but in a controlled, purposeful manner. Rather than sprinting backward and fighting again from a fixed position a mile or more away, the demon leapfrogged from position to position, constantly keeping the enemy controllers on their toes. Whenever he slowed down or stopped, the waves of darkness moved to surround him—then, he'd get up and move faster in the first direction that occurred to him.

If Kifo made the enemy fight a traditional two-front battle, they would be able to adapt and surround both himself and the Pride Landers, and the fight a battle of attrition. However, if he constantly kept them from predicting his next move, he'd keep them in disarray—the lack of efficiency would lead to greater losses.

The demon couldn't expect much from the Pride Landers—they were not a single unit and so didn't have the mobility and speed that he did. What they could do to best help was hold their lines and keep killing while he backed them up.

For a time, it seemed that they might actually have a handle on things—victory even seemed imminent; at the rate Kifo was shredding enemy forces and avoiding significant injury himself it really didn't matter how many forces the enemy had at its disposal. If things didn't change, the adversary would be defeated.

Then, however, the enemy showed its strategic genius. To be sure, Kifo was barely breaking a sweat and the Pride Landers were holding their own—but the demon wasn't the only one with the ability to suddenly switch things up to the peril of his foes.

* * *

Freak couldn't leave the leader of the attack group dispatched to eliminate Aoi alive—even paralyzed, he was too dangerous. The li-tigon considered his options; they were many. He could get in close and dodge an overpowered blow and then pin his enemy, perhaps ending things by a bite to the side of the neck or a claw to the jugular. Or he could make as if to leave the area and then attack from an unexpected angle—no, that was too slow. He needed to attack _now_.

The li-tigon willed his body into motion. He'd intended to start off at a rapid trot before breaking into a sprint as the distance between himself and his enemy closed—but the second Freak took a step forward he found himself not ten feet from his enemy.

Somehow, he avoided serious injury by ducking his head—even this motion, however, was exaggerated beyond usefulness. Freak tripped and tucked into a tight ball to limit injury as he bounced forward, severely cutting himself as he quite literally tore through a Charlie Foxtrot of wrist-thick spines. When the li-tigon came to rest, he was bleeding profusely and had to spend a painful moment yanking a massive barb out of his side.

Fortunately, it hadn't stabbed _into_ him; rather it had found a way under his skin and glanced off a rib, separating a good deal of flesh from his skeleton. Internal bleeding had been induced but not to a great degree—despite the goriness of the injury, Freak was not mortally hurt. The rest of the long scratches lining his sides seemed to melt into his fur, then, becoming as wild and camouflaged as the stripes that he'd inherited from his maternal ancestors.

Defiantly, Freak stood and faced his enemy. The Nomad rebel began to laugh, coughing up a black-purple mix of blood and less definable slime in cruel mockery of the li-tigon's injuries, prepared to defend himself—he now knew how Freak had fought against a foe of great speed and power. The li-tigon's tactics would be turned against him after minor adaptation for the rebel's own great speed and power.

Freak needed to either change tactics or improve his own understanding of the sudden, new capabilities which belonged to his body. The alternative—defeat—was simply not an option.

* * *

They attacked at best speed and with the full force that that implied.

The Pride Landers had been able to hold their own or even somewhat more than that until some unseen switch was thrown—now, the invading force was no longer fighting to simply wear them down. They were fighting not to injure and harass but to kill—their moves were somewhat more wild but quicker and harder and stronger and more perilous if allowed to make contact.

This sudden shift in tactics would have certainly led to the slaughter of the Forbidden fighters—the Pride Landers were extremely disciplined and all were trained enough to fight conservatively—dodging and blocking until the time was right, when they'd reach out and dispatch their enemies with a single claw strike or bite. At first, this manner of fighting was difficult to maintain owing to the sheer number of enemy forces constantly pressing forward, but the Pride Landers and their Nomad allies soon found that by moving around a lot and using the foes they were actively engaging as meat shields they could keep the worst of the darkness at bay. Overlapping lines of defense helped as well—too many quick saves happened in a given unit of time for the Lion Sheikh to detail any.

The battle scene was chaotic but maintainable for the foreseeable future. There was even a growing sense of triumph—they were fighting and actually _winning_ against the largest force the Land of the Spirits had ever seen.

And then they came.

The rhinoceroses were among the most decorated and carefully prepared in the Forbidden Forces. Although not quite all of their blackened, naturally armored hides were covered in twisting symbols or crude metal bits for reinforcement, the add-ons they'd been given were oriented forward rather than to the reasonably secure sides and the quite fleshy hindquarters—this was because the rhinos were not intended to live very long. Their mission was to execute a single strike quickly and powerfully and perfectly, and then use whatever remained of their bodies to further disrupt, dismantle and defeat the Pride Landers to the best of their abilities.

The attack was detected before it happened, regardless of how many thousands of feet thundered in the bloody battlefield. The incoming phalanx of rhinos was impossible to miss—they ran out of cadence, but there were enough of them that every so often two or more footfalls would occur within a sufficiently small unit of time that the ground reverberated in response.

The Forbidden forces' grunts cleared a path for the sprinting herbivores—for the most part. One scrawny human had dropped to a knee, shakily aiming a rifle at the chaos before him. His black, cracked teeth were bared in a twisted smile right up until the rhinos' cloven feet tore him apart and then pounded him into mush.

A major strategic facet of the Pride Landers' defense plan was the large shield of rock and Earth that prevented them from being surrounded on all side. It was true—the rare monkey managed to pull its way up the purposefully treacherous slope to get a great attack point, but it was never long before the threat was noticed and summarily eliminated by a brief jump and paw swipe.

With the wall down, though… the Pride Landers would have to engage hostiles on all sides all the time. Like that, they would not be able to last long—and that was without taking into account the damage enacted by the rhinos' direct assault.

The shock force thundered on for several seconds without even the pretense of stealth or the element of surprise. As they got to within fifty yards of the protective wall, they lowered their horns and braced themselves for impact.

Their approach had been announced, and although the Pride Landers weren't certain what was coming they could guess—and they knew that whatever it was, it was significant. A Nomad was sent to the top of the wall to check things out. He ignored the fighting all around him and easily hopped to the toughened mound of earth, rock and wood.

He got a glimpse of the attack group and his eyes widened—but fortunately, he had the presence of mind to disembark, albeit messily, from his perch. A heartbeat after he did so, a few dozen poorly-aimed bullets filled the space that he'd just occupied. A group of men with Kalashnikovs and open-bolt submachineguns had been set aside from the general attack to prepare for just such a response.

The Nomad hit the ground and amidst the insanity, he noticed that they had scored a hit. Wincing from a dime-sized hole in the muscle on the back of his hind leg, he rejoined the fight, shouldering a tiring lioness back to safety before throwing a particularly vicious chimpanzee into the ground with his jaws.

"Simba!" he called. "It's a group of rhinos coming this way. They can't get around the wall at the speed they're going." He ducked the ham hock-sized fist of a tattooed gorilla and artfully tore out a group of muscles on the ape's back before using his body to fend off the next group of attackers. "I don't know what they're trying to do."

The former King had taken a nasty cut across the muzzle; the fur from his snout and down were now an even deeper red than his mane. The wound didn't distract him, though—he didn't let it, not with so many lives at risk. For a second, he managed to detach his attention from the fighting and simply reacted, weaving in and out of a series of disjointed sword attacks without really knowing it—he had to think, to know what the enemy was doing.

And he figured it out five seconds before it happened.

There was no time to take out the rhinos, and if the Pride Landers were drawn out of their protection then the enemy's objective had been achieved anyway. The best option was clear.

"Pull back to Pride Rock! Pull back! Pull back!" Simba yelled. He rather abruptly broke off of his current battle and stormed to the south. His orders took a second or so to sink in and in that time, the powerful feline leaped _over_ the southern portion of the front, taking several enemies to the ground.

After that, his troops rallied up and aggressively pressed forward—and the Forbidden forces couldn't resist their advance.

The sudden penetration left the Pride Landers open to attack on all sides, but they all moved _fast_, darting past the warriors of darkness before they could be attacked. However, by then, a great many fighters had amassed in the southern flank and it was only a matter of time before they started to slow down the Pride Landers—when that happened, things wouldn't take very long at all to be gorily, bloodily finished.

Talk about motivation.

Before the Pride Landers had fully abandoned their safe zone, the rhinos barreled through it. Some were stopped in their tracks by the resistance until the second line of attackers pushed them through, cutting them apart in the effort, but most simply lost a great deal of speed in the path through the wall.

Unlike the lions and hyenas of the Pride Lands and Eastern Jungle, the rhinos could not go around or through the vast legions of their enemies. They had to go _through_ them, inflicting a great deal of "friendly fire" and leveling entire columns of fighters gathering to attack the retreating force's unprotected rear.

The rhinos, however, could not catch up and for this reason they broke off the attack, allowing the rest of the forces to focus on putting an end to the Pride Landers' counteroffensive. They watched, bleeding from around horns that had been depressed several centimeters and covered with miscellaneous chunks of their fellows, as the lions continued onward.

Their momentum could not last. Many would die during the retreat, and when they made their last stand at Pride Rock, evil would finally, finally, finally have its day.

* * *

Freak took a step forward, although not in the direction of his enemy. The angle was such that there would be perhaps twenty feet between himself and the enemy Nomad when they were their closest—it was a very small adjustment in direction, perhaps only a few degrees at best. But the li-tigon was quite far away.

When he moved, he was prepared for the sudden blast of strength and speed that rocketed him across the battlefield before he could realize it. And when he was finished and on the other side of the rebel, Freak turned and did the same routine again—with one difference. This time, he tried to turn while running—nothing serious, just a course correction of a few degrees.

He nearly ran into his enemy in the process.

Now, however, Freak was familiar with the rough capabilities of his body. The massive acceleration and top speed and the agility as well as the tolerances for turning on terrain like this… it all had to be taken into account for what the li-tigon had planned next.

No more tests could be taken; there was simply no time. So, Freak simply ran forward again and turned—and kept turning. As a result, he ran in a broad circle around his enemy, completing each revolution within a second despite the fact that the radius of the circle was well over twenty yards. Looking to the side, the li-tigon saw the tan coat of his enemy highlighted against an incoherent green blur—and knew that when he attacked it might be from any angle at all.

So, Freak suddenly brought himself out of the rapid loop, testing his abilities to the very limit. He'd taken his foe to the ground before he realized it, pulling the Nomad rebel down with a clothesline strike.

He'd hit the lion in the rough five o'clock region, but the blow was not debilitating. Despite nearly blacking out as a result of the sudden impulse, the paralyzed feline managed to turn on his way down so that he was facing up at his enemy. His intent was to exchange blows; although there was no way that he could dodge the lightning-fast strikes that Freak could throw, there was no way that the li-tigon could dodge his own assaults.

Freak didn't give his enemy a chance to fight, though. He pummeled the injured lion into the ground and held him there with his body weight, and finished things off with a brief but crushing bite to the other cat's collarbone. Resultingly, the li-tigon came away with a bleeding chunk of flesh in his jaws and watched, just for a second, as the last of the rebel's life drained away.

Then he was on the move again.

Although he wasn't exactly sure what had happened or how long it would last, Freak now knew what to do to make use with what he had. Presumably, killing one of the supercharged rebels had given him their prowess—but he didn't know that for a fact. Something could have happened weeks or more ago that had set off the unprecedented chain of events.

Freak reached Usiku within thirty seconds, and the hyena had managed to avoid debilitating injury until that very time. After leaping off of several trees to avoid charging through a mass of wiry bushes, the li-tigon arrived just in time to see Usiku go flying.

The remaining team of Nomads stopped in their tracks when Freak came into view. For a second, the two parties simply stared one another down, each recognizing the opposite for what it was. There were no reinforcements—there was no retreat and no negotiation, either. And the longer hostilities were postponed, the larger friendly casualties would be.

Freak moved in a heartbeat after the Nomads did.

The nature of the soil in that part of the Forbidden Island was different from what it was elsewhere. Rather than being grainy and sharp to the touch, it was powdery and quite light—so when it entered the air it tended to stay in the air, allowing a caustic cloud to remain for several seconds wherever anyone had been.

We can imagine the amount of obfuscation caused, then, by the amount of soil kicked into the air by the three superfast cats.

Vision, quickly, became a sense that was more of a liability than an asset. Freak's eyes burned and that wasn't good—so he shut them and relied on hearing, mostly, to detect and attack his enemy.

It wasn't an easy thing to do, since, as was the case with him, the rebels moved swiftly but not with heavy footfalls. Indeed, their signature audial footprint was the loud _whoosh_ of them scything through the air—and that was enough for Freak.

The li-tigon knew that they were likely using the same strategy to detect him. Fighting fair was never a good way to win, so Freak looked for a way to change the odds. As he pinpointed the position and vector of his enemies' motion, it became clear to him that now was a situation begging for the implementation of a decoy.

* * *

Dietz himself was the leader of the remaining Nomad defense group. The lipard was extremely quick-thinking and had realized that it was best to detect Freak audially rather than visually before the li-tigon had come to the reciprocal conclusion—but, unlike Freak, he hadn't fallen into the trap of underestimating his enemy. Either that, or he simply wanted to take _no_ chances and didn't have to worry about time, either. His victory was necessary, but it could come whenever it would.

With that in mind, Dietz forced himself to ignore whatever Freak was doing, just then—it seemed likely to him that the li-tigon intended to deploy a diversion of some sort or perhaps find a way to take the fight out of such an inhospitable environment, and either of those manuevers would let Freak control the situation. That was unacceptable—Dietz needed to dominate things and make the li-tigon fight on terms undesirable to him.

As soon as he decided that, the next move seemed obvious.

Dietz was somewhat experienced with the amount of speed at his disposal in the new, supercharged body his Master had given him. For that reason, he knew exactly how to dodge through the trees to make his way to his destination at best speed—and since his memory was sharp and nearly infallible, he didn't even need to open his eyes to get to where he was going.

Nala was already half-dead or worse, but her daughter was in sufficiently decent condition to make a good hostage. Though downed from a vicious paw across the face, Kiara was alive and breathing. To be fair, she was quite incapable of staying on her feet for more than a few seconds and that's what made her ideal for Dietz's purposes.

The acceleration the lioness underwent when the Nomad picked her up was intense. The jolt amounted to rocketing up to 12-gs—in about half a second. Naturally, Kiara was rendered completely unconscious as a result, becoming dead weight—perhaps that's not the best term to use—in Dietz's grasp. She was light, however, and didn't slow the Nomad down in the slightest.

The lipard held her by the scruff of her neck, at first, having to be quite careful to not shred the fragile flesh in his teeth. That would induce severe bleeding and waste a perfectly good hostage—and it would show Freak that his and his friends' best interests would be served by engaging the enemy with force, not meaningful dialogue.

Now, though, Dietz could delay Freak and draw him away from the center of the Forbidden Island and its vulnerable Master. The enemy hybrid moved quickly, rocketing at best speed out of the forest and back toward the coast. His tailing comrade protected him from an attack from the rear—and that was the only direction that Freak could attack from.

With time running low for Kiara, the rest of the core invaders, the Pride Landers, and even Kifo, what could the li-tigon possibly do to win?

* * *

Kifo had thought he'd been steeled against the cold task of killing long ago, back when he was just a baby demon racking up his first fatalities in the little insertions scattered here and there throughout the Land of the Spirits. It could fairly be said that he'd done his dirty work in quite creative, gory ways—the Lion Sheikh has sadistic personality disorder to thank for that—err, anyway, he'd certainly done things well beyond what constituted normal combat. And those were unprovoked acts of brutal aggression.

Why, then, was he starting to feel a growing feeling of sickness, deep in the pit of his stomach? He ditched his ruined machinegun—the barrel had overheated and melted from overuse—and in seconds had an AA-12 automatic shotgun in one hand and a machinepistol in the other. Kifo had opted to use cheap #3 buckshot rather than the more finely-crafted 00 or more due to the current load's tendency to spread more and therefore put a broader spectrum of enemies in harm's way. He held the shotgun angled downward, blowing heads, shoulders, and entire torsos into bleeding, broken bits—the machinepistol kept quicker and sneakier attackers at bay when they darted in or made for Kifo's sides or back.

Kifo reloaded both weapons, throwing the machinepistol in the air to use both hands to slap a new drum magazine home into the AA-12. By the time the sidearm came down, the demon had a fresh magazine in hand for that and held it so that the gun loaded itself with nothing more than the force of gravity.

He continued his killing, then, working hard to keep the legions of darkness at bay. What the demon didn't realize that he, in fact, was the primary target—not the Pride Landers. Like any number of other superpowered villains, if the demon was angered or frightened, then he would find within him the strength to do miracles. If he saw the Pride Landers' position broken apart by the rhinos… well, then, ugly things might happen. And the enemy was not taking that chance.

Rather, the preferred tactic to eliminate the demon was, first, a squad of cheetahs. Kifo saw them, flitting through the ranks of his enemies—for some reason, their fur had been left unpainted. The bright yellow stood out in the hordes of black and for that reason, the demon was able to aim carefully and take one down with a lucky shot to the head before preparing to go hand-to-hand.

He couldn't forget, however, that if he was surrounded then it would be game over. He was a demon and a walking tank but he was still one being—and he didn't have eyes in the back of his head.

Kifo was also not a tactical genius.

The cheetahs all converged on him at once, breaking from a gradually concentrating spiral to suddenly leap over and through their comrades in a race to see who would draw the demon's blood first. Continuing to move, quickly, so that he couldn't be enveloped by the darkness, Kifo simply waited until the cheetahs were close enough—then he killed two by almost literally shoving the barrels of his weapons down their throats and then pulling the triggers.

Still, though, six pairs of claw-tipped paws reached out for him as the yellow, spotted tornado that formed that attack wing finally touched the demon. They were, he had to hand it to them, remarkably fast and agile although none were nearly as strong as he was nor as tough.

Kifo let them grab him—let them lock themselves into his solid, armored flesh so that they were within retaliatory striking range. To be sure, the gashes induced by those hooked, steely claws were both painful and significant, but Kifo could take a hit like that without flinching. He'd taken a lot worse than that, especially when he had been alive.

The demon hunched up his shoulders and used his broad, muscled forearms to protect his face and neck. The leathery hide on his torso was ravaged, then, but he didn't take any serious hits—and, as he'd intended, the cheetahs quickly exhausted themselves while cutting his chest into shreds.

Now it was his turn.

He'd stopped running for a split second and in that time, the Forbidden army had executed a blitzkrieg-pincer, so to speak, racing to encircle the demon in the shadows and then snuff him out from all directions. Kifo started moving again a _heartbeat_ too soon for that to happen, however, and as a result he had to run directly over several underdeveloped monkeys to escape.

Once he'd broken free of the majority of the forces, the demon began to fight back. His first move was as simple as it was brutal—he reached down and took the cheetah on the front of his chest up by the scruff of the neck, cleanly yanking the feline—and more than a few slivers of his own flesh—up and away. Before the cheetah could react, Kifo had planted his fist into the cat's face—hard. The punch was so powerful that it shattered every bone in the feline's face, despite the fact that the tough structure was built just for such a hit, and Kifo's fist continued forward as his other hand cupped around the back of his enemy's head. As a result, smashed bits of bone, blood, and brain sprayed everywhere as the cheetah's skull was completely pulverized.

Now bleeding severely and with five cheetahs still clinging to his chest, Kifo was not in an enviable position. And that was without taking into account the fact that his enemy was just getting warmed up.

* * *

One of the major advantages Freak had historically had over his enemies was the fact that he was able to keep his eye on the ball like few others. Rather than getting lost in the passions and action of the moment—the latter of which he didn't care for and the former of which he had only begun to experience in later life—the li-tigon rarely lost sight of the big picture.

In his cubhood, this meant that he never declared a grandiose war on his prey, for example—he only killed in the amount and manner that his physical needs required him to. When he was older, it meant that he never allowed himself to feel any attachment to—well, anything, really. Things could be taken away and in the end, they were, after all, simply a means to the end of survival.

Now it meant that he was faced with quite the moral decision.

The li-tigon had realized that Dietz was going to engage in the dark art of hostage-taking a second before Kiara was in the rebel's jaws. Of course, he now knew that there existed persons that were not simply threats, but feeling beings that could and _did_ care about him—and for that reason, his first instinct was to pursue with the intent to free Kiara and summarily enact justice on Dietz for what he had done.

Then, however, he remembered—his real goal wasn't to protect the core infiltrators. His purpose was to locate and destroy the Master of the forces of darkness… And it wasn't like Kiara was an unwilling bystander. She'd taken part in less vital, less black-and-white conflicts before—she'd already given her consent to be a means to an end.

The real enemy here was neither more nor less than pure evil, after all. He could sacrifice lives—many lives, if needed—in order to defeat it.

But then again… if he let Dietz and the other rebel go while he moved deeper into the Forbidden Island to try to find their Master… well, supposing the li-tigon did locate the commander of darkness. The fight was not going to be a quick thing; there would be plenty of time for the two other Nomads to come and get him—and he couldn't fight them and the darkest being the Land of the Spirits had ever seen all at once.

That seemed like a good rationalization. But Freak had already started after the remaining Nomadic defense group.

Catching up with them was not easy, but Dietz could not move at best speed—although Kiara's weight was insignificant in comparison to his strength, he did not have limitless power. Soon, the Nomads would have to make a stand—and they decided to do so at the last second, on the far fringes of the Forbidden Island's eastern shore.

Fortunately, neither Dietz nor his backup realized that Freak could be prevented from engaging their Master if they simply left effective combat range and then moved in when the li-tigon wasn't ready to deal with them. They simply dropped their captive, tossing the lioness's limp form off to the side—Kiara glanced off the inhospitable sand, twice, before coming to a bruised, bleeding halt.

And then it all went down.

The Nomads and Freak came at one another at top speed, blazing across the ironically peaceful and otherwise serene beach. With their backdrop as the deadened, colorless forests of the Forbidden Island, it really would look to any observer that they were fighting for something monumental—little else could bring such attention to such a miserable part of the world.

At first, Freak, like his enemies, was scared to attack. A step out of place at this speed would result in a head-on collision—and that would probably result in knocking him out or otherwise rendering him incapable of completing his task. What he needed was a way to strike his enemies without being hurt in the process… but his options were limited. If he slowed down for a second, he'd be taken down immediately.

The two warring parties passed one another several times, each time inching closer and closer. It was something of a game of chicken, really—whoever deviated from their original course first would be open to attack. But as they got closer, closer, and closer still, Freak saw that this manner of fighting was pointless. He had to change the rules.

Perhaps he was thinking that things were more complicated than they really were. Time and again, the toughest foes the li-tigon had ever faced had been defeated by forgetting the basics—the setting of the fight and the fact that Freak could do more than lunge and bite or lunge and claw, for example, had made the Atlases of Freak's world shrug.

Maybe he was also committing a fallacy of his own. Long had balance and form been the two constants the li-tigon relied on to defeat his enemy; the mentality was that without a stable foundation for mounting attacks and defensive maneuvers he couldn't hope to win. That simply wasn't true—there had been times when it would have been advantageous for Freak to sacrifice some balance for some more blood.

The maneuver that changed the flow of the fight for the better was the most simple of them all. It borrowed heavily from the wild style of combat that he'd learned from his grandmother and the Desert Warriors—minus being aerial or at all flashy in nature. Freak simply dove and spun on the z-axis while outstretching his limbs. There was simply no time for Dietz and his follow to react to the sudden and—to him—unorthodox manner of attack, so when the Nomad finally attempted to jump he only did Freak a favor by not taking the li-tigon down with him.

After the rebel's hind leg was clipped by Freak's claw and thereby very nearly dislocated, he almost comically flailed about in midair while his chances of landing safely deteriorated exponentially. When Dietz hit the ground, his paw turned to the side and failed to support his weight, pinning his foreleg under his mass as the bulk of his body hit the ground. He didn't bounce, not really, but he did shred half the flesh on his underbelly against the gritty particles beneath him.

On the other hand, when Freak was ready to get back to his paws he simply dug his appendages into the beach, stopping himself immediately. He very nearly smiled, despite the situation and its implicit gravity, when he watched Dietz's tail fail to take into account a small dune his leader collided with—now, both rebels were swearing, particularly at one another, as they continued the painful slide across the Forbidden shore.

The li-tigon didn't give them time to recover, though. A heartbeat after getting to his own paws, he was again moving at speeds that he could barely comprehend.

It was too dangerous to get caught up in the tumble that was Dietz and his follower, but Freak could harm them a great deal without putting himself in danger. He attacked with impunity, keeping pace with the bleeding pair so that he could reach in and strike with his claws, not bothering to aim for any specific piece of flesh—they were moving far too fast for Freak to hope to strike what he wanted.

He did plenty of damage, however. By the time the two Nomads managed to separate and start running again, both were bleeding from their sides and faces—and lots of nice, chunky sand had made it into their wounds, shredding their flesh more and more with every movement.

Freak had already won the fight. All that remained was for the rebels' actions to reflect that fact.

* * *

The best response to the demon's unenviable position was not pretty, but he was running low on options. The waves of darkness were constantly closing in and they were getting closer and closer to surrounding Kifo—their advances weren't slow and conservative anymore; rather, the enemy had opted for a constant blitzkrieg rush.

He needed to move fast reciprocally; and to be able to do that he couldn't be weighed down by five large cats attached to his chest by their mouths. The demon looked away from the cheetahs, for a moment, to get a lay of the land and the distribution of the Forbidden invaders—and when he looked back down he actually shouted in confusion and horror.

Leeches are never a nice thing to have to pull off of your skin, but Kifo was now literally being eaten alive by five leech-zillas. The tube-like parasites were the size of a man and black from head to tail, coated in a layer of slime and black in color. Apart from the sheer weight that resisted his every motion, the massive worms were literally eating Kifo alive—his skin was rapidly deteriorating, being burnt away by the combined efforts of acid and rotating, serrated teeth.

Talk about mildly unpleasant.

The demon could have cut the parasites from his flesh more quickly if he stood still, but one parasite broke through his hide and immediately sucked out a full pint of blood. Light-headedness hit immediately; Kifo didn't realizing that he was continuing to move as he took up a circular saw and began to somewhat lethargically apply it to each of the disgusting beings on his chest.

Blood sprayed everywhere as the demon cut through his attackers, reducing them to writhing bits of meat on the ground and less-definable chunks of flesh and bone still attached to his torso. Feeling certain that the nauseating mess that remained on his chest would fall off soon enough, Kifo began to run again at best speed—he _barely_ dived past a throng of incoming attackers and continued on for a few hundred yards, scaling two hills before pausing… just in time to notice that the leeches were starting to grow back.

The parasites, it seemed, could regenerate to great effect and with great speed. Before ten seconds passed, the dreadful monstrosities were nearly at apex size and weight again—and Kifo was losing blood and energy quicker than ever as more pipelines into his blood were opened.

The demon dropped to a knee and struggled to stay conscious—it was hard as he lost more and more blood and was continually weighed down by the bulk of additional flesh pulling against him. At least he had a few seconds, however, before the rest of the Forbidden forces arrived to put an end to his story…

He continued that line of thought for all of two seconds. And then he realized that he wasn't at all far from the area where, hours before, he'd accompanied Kochai as she ran along, chasing after a butterfly.

The demon fought against gravity, then, and very nearly lost. He turned his head and looked to Pride Rock where the royal family and its followers, and the Eastern Nomads were still fighting hard and dying—he saw what was unmistakably a lion's body being thrown into the midst of the darkness in a desperate bid to buy time for the rest of the defenders and knew that if he gave up where he was, he was a coward.

With a somewhat ugly expression on his face, the demon got to his feet and looked down at the leeches. He concentrated, hard, ignoring the approaching hordes of darkness and looked at his hands. In moments, the two vicious appendages began to smoke and darken—and the demon knew that he was ready to act.

He set his paws on his enemies—that was all. At first, nothing happened but after a few seconds the leeches began to give off harsh, caustic smoke—similar to the fumes given off by burning plastic. Kifo was roasting the parasites from the inside out to ensure their complete removal and destruction so that they could never regenerate or hurt him again.

The tactic worked, although not as quickly as was ideal. By the time the first two leeches were charred shells of skin and bone on the ground the rest of the Forbidden Island's best were within a hundred yards—so Kifo began to move again, ignoring the almost overwhelming desire to stop and take a break, just for a few minutes, to let the blood rush back into his brain…

The rest of the leeches were roasted off in short order; now that Kifo knew that his tactic was effective he improved on technique and each parasite was eliminated quicker than the last. To be sure, the demon did consume a great deal of the dark energy that powered him and for that reason, he was unable to call forth a weapon in the seconds that followed.

So, without any significant retaliatory capabilities, the demon continued to move, hoping to lead what forces he could away from Pride Rock. What he realized in his mind but didn't accept in his gut was that somehow he was running out of gas. Maybe it was because he simply wasn't the demon he had been just hours before, or maybe it was because his Master—who had given him existence, power, and purpose—was starting to take it all back.

Either way, Kifo probably didn't have much time left in the Pride Lands. Faced with his own impending mortality, however, the demon didn't retreat and regress. His determination only grew, and a moment later, he had a rifle in hand again. He might be able to chose the time and place of his demise, but he could chose the manner.

* * *

Now that the blood that had to be shed for the majority of the Pride Lands' finest to get back to Pride Rock had been spilled, Simba focused on ordering the troops to take and secure the monolith beyond what reason generally might demand. The nature of the structure made it a natural bottleneck point; by fighting wisely and refusing to yield an inch, the Pride Landers could demolish their enemies with minimal friendly losses.

This was not Thermopylae, though. Simba ordered two sharp-eyed Nomads to stay out of the fight and look around for anything unusual—some sudden tactic designed to break the carefully-built phalanx that made sure that no one lion was in too much danger at any one time. An aerial attack or perhaps some sort of assault designed to supplant Pride Rock itself could very easily break them, now that Banzai couldn't offer long-range fire support—

_"Wait a second,"_ Simba thought. He dodged an attack by some miscellaneous agent of darkness and jumped back, suddenly, trusting that someone would take his place. In the meantime, he raced away from the scene of the fighting toward the seldom-visited peak where Banzai had been stationed.

The hyena was unaccounted for, and that very well meant that he was dead. But if he was dead… Simba didn't want to think of the ramifications. It wasn't just that there was one less fighter around—potentially, it meant something far, far worse.

Simba was _almost_ fast enough to stop something beyond his worst fear from being realized. As it turned out, he got to Banzai's crest just in time to watch the ones that had killed him and feasted on his flesh receive some invisible, inaudible signal—and then push the remaining poison gourds off of the peak of Pride Rock… toward the dozens of lions below.

How the former King killed the fliers he didn't know. It happened fast, though—he managed to dive to the edge of the peak and swipe first with one paw and then the other, doing nothing more than batting one gourd the slightest amount. And so, Simba watched, face aghast, as all those gourds tumbled through the air, rapidly picking up speed as they careened down toward the Pride Landers.

* * *

Freak had rarely fought such tenacious foes before in his life. The Bhangar Clan was, certainly, one of the tougher customers that the li-tigon had gone up against—but they couldn't compare to Dietz and his follower. Although at least the second Nomad was literally falling apart, he stayed with the rebel leader and struck back at Freak when possible.

It was, of course, to no avail. The evil warriors had slowed down from their injuries, and that fact sealed their fate. Freak attacked them with impunity; they only managed to avoid cuts to the neck or other major arteries by diving away or blocking in such manners that Freak would expose himself if he took the bait.

The li-tigon played it safe, though it annoyed him that he couldn't finish the fight. It would take some time for the rest of the core group to recover, after all—and he wasn't going to take on the Master of darkness alone. So he continued to hack away at his enemies until they could not longer stand; the gashes in their flesh too deep and numerous to be ignored.

Freak attacked one last time. In a final burst of defiance, Dietz struck back, lashing out with a surprisingly well-aimed slash that would have given Freak matching scars on each of his eyelids—but the li-tigon was too fast. He ducked and dove and struck upward, at the fleshy weak point between the bones of the Nomad's foreleg—

And then Dietz fell back. His limb did as well, several feet away.

Fifty yards away, Freak spun into a halt. He locked eyes with his enemy, checking the rebel's condition coldly—Dietz was bleeding out rapidly. His partner was already unconscious. The fight was over—even the sand had started to settle.

Grunting in pain and choking on his own blood, though, Dietz tried to stand again, pathetically tugging himself toward Freak with his good foreleg. His eyes were filled with primal hate—Freak looked to the side for a moment, then began to walk forward, slowly, a harsh, unforgiving glare on his face.

"Give up," the li-tigon said curtly. "You're finished, Dietz. _Stop_," he said quite firmly. His paws guided him, deliberately, closer and closer to the rebel, but Dietz didn't flinch and didn't back down.

But as Freak got to within twenty yards, the Nomad did laugh, causing blood to spray onto the beach in front of him as if his mouth was a severed artery.

"Finished…?" The Nomad gasped and managed to push himself onto his back so that he could look at Freak. In the process, the weight of his now inert muscle mass pressed against his vitals, literally squashing the breath, blood, and life right out of him—but he managed to hold on. Just for a few seconds.

"It's not finished," Dietz rasped. "You might have gotten past us… but there's still the Nightmare Cave. You'll never see my Master… never again, until he takes over the special ring of Hell reserved for you, you fucking freak." The Nomad managed to spit but Freak didn't blink, didn't turn away. He allowed the hot, translucent-red liquid to strike his cheek and trickle down—he'd taken worse abuse in his life by far. Freak could have killed Dietz well before then, but he didn't—who knew, the Nomad might slip up and say something useful in his last moments alive.

At first, though, it seemed that Freak had allowed another affront to his self-esteem pass without challenge for no reason. The dying rebel simply laughed, and laughed, and laughed until it seemed that he was going to cough up a lung—after that, he somehow found it in him to speak a few more words.

"You'll never get through the Nightmare Cave," Dietz murmured. His eyes were open but the light had long faded from them. He might even have been dead—this could well be some strange postmortem reaction as the remaining neurons in his brain fired off without the rebel's will.

"Not a thing like you," he continued. "Not with memories like yours. You will die alone and in your own little patch of Hell on Earth, Freak. And if any of your pathetic friends get through the Cave, my Master will kill them _slowly_. I promise you that, Freak… on my own grave."

There was no more talking and no more motion at all; Freak simply stared at the presumably dead Rebel without a trace of emotion on his face. He didn't trust things for a second—and so he resisted his normal routine of shutting his fallen enemies' eyes. When Dietz was well and truly dead, he'd collapse and disintegrate.

And so the li-tigon turned around and began to walk away. He approached Kiara and the shell that had formed around him chipped away as deep concern drove Freak to check the lioness's prone form for heartbeat and breathing. His powerful appendage gently turned her head one way and then the other… and then withdrew.

There was no mistake—Kiara was dead; there was nothing he could do for her now… almost. Freak shut his eyes briefly and allowed a lone drop of wetness fall from his eye before taking off, racing back toward the rest of the core infiltrators. From the beginning, he'd known that some—many—maybe even all of them were going to die… for it to actually happen shouldn't have been so unthinkable.

They could still win this, though—they could. If they gave up, then there wouldn't be anyone left to even bury that tawny, still-warm form, all alone on the beach.

* * *

(I quit writing kthxbai)


	31. Nexus III: The Nightmare Cave

The Lion King: The Freak

Chapter 31: Nexus III: The Nightmare Cave

* * *

(Thanks for staying with me all this time.)

* * *

Nala was clinging to life—barely. Unconscious and short of breath, it seemed that she was suffering from internal injuries that were beyond the capacity of the core group to heal. Potentially, she had a number of severely broken bones and for that reason Freak didn't dare move her—he could very easily injure or even kill her if he did that.

It was just as well that Nala might not survive, though. Freak had done some serious stuff in his life, but he honestly didn't believe that he had it in him to tell the matriarch that her daughter was no more.

He didn't know what he'd say to Simba—provided, of course, that the former King would live that long... if he was even alive right then, as what remained of the core infiltrators gathered and licked their wounds, pondering their next move.

They couldn't sit still for long. Every second they wasted trying to heal was a second during which the odds of returning to an empty or overrun Pride Lands returned.

Freak looked across his forces. Ed, it seemed, had died upon impact; his form had simply lost all coherence when the rebels collided with him. Perhaps he'd thrown himself in between the Nomads and Roderik—but the old lion would never know for sure.

At least the Nomad leader was back on his feet and conscious, apparently not severely injured. His healing factor was great; that was largely why he'd managed to survive to such an age in the first place.

Aoi was alright. But Freak had left Usiku along for a minute too many.

The former assassin was not in mortal danger, but his fighting days were over—for good. Sarabi had survived and gotten along just fine with a paw missing, but going through life without a paw and going through life without a whole foreleg were two completely different things.

The hyena had taken an unfortunate blow just under the shoulder—his foreleg had twisted and dislocated, and that wasn't so bad in itself—but then, he'd struck a tree and shattered the misaligned bones of his foreleg into smithereens.

Now, Usiku's socket was broken beyond repair. So was what used to fit into it.

The limb was doomed and if left attached to the hyena's body, it would literally rot him from the inside out. So, with that in mind, Usiku had gritted his teeth and taken his own foreleg off without so much as wincing.

To be fair, however, he wasn't a complete BAMF—when he was done the gruesome task, leaving all of the core invaders _except_ for Freak gaping in an odd mixture of revulsion and respect, he asked, in a very, very thin voice, if someone could come and help him stop bleeding before he passed out.

Roderik and Aoi were the only ones left. Besides Freak, of course—but he was always there.

The li-tigon sat still with his face blank, hiding all the sadness in his heart away—at least for the moment. He would think about what had been lost in the Forbidden Island later, when the battle was done and the dust had settled and when the dead had been buried. But right then, the Pride Landers and the Nomads were still being killed—the cries of battle and death reached the core group all the way from Pride Rock.

"It's time to get moving," Freak said, approximately twenty seconds after gathering the group up and ensuring that Usiku was relatively stable. "We have to get to their leader… he's on the other side of the Forbidden Island." The li-tigon saw questions on his friends' lips but he did not explain how he knew that—because he wasn't sure. But he did know that he knew it like he knew that the Nightmare Cave that Dietz had told him about would create a new standard for horror and angst in fanfiction.

He let a breath out of his nose all at once, flexing the lower halves of his forelegs. His injuries had healed, mostly, in what he assumed were the final benefits that the act of killing a rebel Nomad brought with it—now, he could only move with the speed and agility that he'd known all of his life.

In just a few hours, Freak had aged years—and the same might be said for Aoi and perhaps even Roderik as well (although, at his age, a few years was really not a significant period of time at all). The li-tigon was not gray-maned, but his coat no longer seemed to have the sleekness, the shininess that was associated with a cat in the prime of his life. He looked old, or frayed—sort of stretched, like butter spread over too much toast.

Even the scar on his face seemed more tattered and dark than it usually did.

Maybe things would reverse themselves when the battle was fought and the Forbidden Island was rendered an area no more evil than the rest of the Land of the Spirits. Freak felt that they would for the core group—but not for him. There was a strange sort of finality to the appearance that had suddenly been thrown on him; the li-tigon had changed his body radically once before in his lifetime—and after this change, that was it. He'd look the way he presently did for the rest of his life, probably: a tired middle-aged feline with bags under his eyes who had done and seen far, far too much.

The attitude of someone that was permanently down and out, however, could come later. And when it did, Freak imagined that he really wouldn't have it in him to resist. What was yet to happen that day would change him forever.

* * *

Bodies lay by the hundreds at Kifo's feet.

But hundreds more remained—and if the demon didn't kill them, then they'd go to kill the Pride Landers.

And, so, despite the fact that it was no hard to hold back the bile rapidly rising in his throat, he fought on.

He was running out of gas, though, and each passing second made this fact progressively clearer than the last. His weapons—now nothing more than crappy Chinese AKs—locked up frequently, failing to fire and feed often and at the worst times. Kifo only managed to avoid injury by running fast, ignoring the protests of the thickened muscles of his quadriceps and calves—though he couldn't stop himself from panting and he couldn't pretend that the hazy blur superimposed onto his vision was due to anger anymore because it was due to fatigue.

Now, Kifo was having a hard time producing even ammunition.

He wouldn't give up, though—he'd die fighting, and when that would happen was quite soon. The forces of darkness had completely enveloped him and were only kept at bay by wild, poorly-aimed blows with fists and swords. Clamoring, the Forbidden invaders waited for the moment when the demon would collapse or lose balance—they didn't have to be overly aggressive now that there was no escape for him. Instead, they could just take turns attacking the demon from various sides while a great many of their numbers peeled off to back up the offensive at Pride Rock, where the lions and hyenas there fought on still.

Kifo's efforts were quickly losing relevance. But even the anger caused by the realization of that fact didn't motivate him, didn't overwhelm the helplessness and weakness that he knew he would die with.

Finally the demon dropped to a knee and didn't get up. Breathing heavily, he felt the blows start to come—and now even the pathetically weak hordes of darkness could take—at least to a degree—the punishment his limbs dished out. The walls pressed in around him, getting inexorably closer and closer—

And then he was saved by perhaps the most unlikely of characters.

Why they paid any attention to her at all was difficult to say. At best she could take down two or three of the invaders before she was shot, stabbed, or beaten down and mauled in some other terrible way—so maybe it was because they sensed, somehow, that she was something more than a helpless, defenseless little kitten. Maybe they knew that even if the worst happened and they failed and died—if they managed to kill her, they'd still win in the end.

Whatever it was, though, drew at least eighty percent of the dark warriors assigned to the task of finishing Kifo off away to pursue Kochai with the flagrant intent to kill her.

The demon realized this. And it gave him the strength and the will to stand up, just for a moment; he had to see if Kochai was doing alright—if she could get away then he could allow himself to die, but if not…

And then he saw a divot get blown out of the ground inches from the kitten's tail. Someone with an autoloading shotgun was gunning for her, and his aim was getting better by the moment.

Kifo vaguely noticed that some of the several dozen fighters in his immediate vicinity were working on getting the tip of a spear more than a centimeter or so into his back. He ignored it and focused on calming himself down—he couldn't let his emotions control him, but he could let them power him.

The demon felt blood run through his veins again, hot and alive… and red. The Lion Sheikh has specified, before, that Kifo's blood was black—but now, inexplicably, it was red: almost like he was human again.

Well. Whatever had caused the sudden change wasn't bad, clearly, because Kifo felt more powerful than he ever had before. Breathing rapidly, he took up a new weapon and lowered his shoulder, running directly through perhaps ten Forbidden fighters. With an M249 Para in his hands, the demon started to run and gun, concentrating his fire just above the heads of the crowd of warriors chasing Kochai—if the tigress was hit by a single bullet, it would be game over. Kifo could afford to miss over half of his shots, provided that those that did make contact clipped his enemies in the head.

The demon's feet tore into the ground as he ran, causing deep, distinctive tracks to follow him as he moved to catch up with Kochai's attackers. The closer he got the more rapidly he could fire, until his finger did not let off the trigger for a second. To be sure, he was getting shot in return and when he got closer yet, he imagined that he'd take hits from spears and swords and other hand-to-hand weapons. He shook off his injuries and his pain, though—when Kochai was safe he would allow himself to collapse. When Kochai was safe, he could allow himself to die.

* * *

Freak had entered the Forbidden Island with six. Now, two were dead and one of the two that were grievously injured might well die at any time—only two were in any condition to follow him toward the heart of the Forbidden Island.

And they had a lot of hard work before them.

Conditions rapidly grew darker and even less normal as the three best hopes of the Land of the Spirits and its residents continued forward. Odd, unnatural sounds echoed through the mist and shadows around them but they couldn't afford to be intimidated into retreat.

Not yet, anyway.

Freak spoke, then, in a tone that no one had ever really heard him use before. It was neither curt and abrupt nor somewhat slow and thoughtful—he adopted a cadence that was irregular and somewhat monotonous, and rather less deep than what was normal. It was the voice of a poet, not a Warrior King—but it fit with the sad, reluctant smile that the li-tigon offered his two companions.

"We're going to go to a very dangerous place," he informed the two lions. "I didn't learn much about it… but… I don't expect all of us to make it through. I won't back down, I swear," the li-tigon said. "But… if it gets to be… too much… no one will fault you for leaving and going to help in the Pride Lands."

There was no point in protesting; the looks Aoi and Roderik gave Freak told him that they, would not abandon him… unless, well, if they really couldn't go on, then there was no point in trying, was there?...

Their pace was rapid but cautious, because they knew that they were far from their goal and were likely to be attacked at any time. Soon, it grew cold—and this is not a subjective statement made by the Lion Sheikh on behalf of the African cats. No, the temperature had dropped to just above forty degrees Fahrenheit—but, bizarrely, the humidity was high. Simply moving caused the warm feline bodies to collide with miniscule droplets of water suspended in the air, forcing them to shiver to keep warm even as they ran on.

They were moving through a marsh, and although almost anything was preferable to trudging through the murky, algae-covered water that covered several square miles of the Forbidden Island, there was no alternative. Freak felt the mud beneath suck at his paws but he moved too fast to sink in—his mind was only on his goal.

Their path through the darkness was without resistance—and then they came to it all at once; its black, gaping maw emerged out of nowhere.

"The Nightmare Cave." Freak came to a gradual halt, glancing to both flanking cats to tell them to do the same. He moved forward, involuntarily shaking his paws before standing at the entrance of that dank-smelling chasm.

The cave, it seemed, was not made entirely out of rock. Rather, the crumbling structure of the entrance was made out of packed soil littered with decaying organic matter. Freak tried not to pay too much to how much the entrance seemed to resemble the jaws of something that had died, been buried, and then dug up years later.

But the similarities were striking. A few collapsing fingers of stone and earth looked stunningly like twisted, elongated fangs—and then there was the smell.

The putrid odor was nearly impossible to cope with without vomiting or simply leaving, sickened. Freak had never smelled anything so foul in his life—the very air he was breathing was a toxic fume. Horribly, there was a caustic feeling in the atmosphere, like every exposed part of his body was being dissolved—or digested.

Freak swallowed. And for some reason, that action did not comfort him.

"What _is_ this place?" Aoi asked. She'd covered her nose with a paw and seemed queasy, and therefore unsteady on her feet. Terror was visible in the way her prominently green eyes seemed to vibrate within their sockets; the lioness was scared out of her mind. And she hadn't even taken a step into the grotesque hole yet.

"As I said," the li-tigon replied, coolly, taking a testing step forward. Nothing particularly horrible happened to him, however, so he turned to speak to the lioness over his shoulder. "It's called the Nightmare Cave. That's all I got out of Dietz… I don't know what's inside. Maybe it has something to do with nightmares…"

That made Freak think—Dietz might have assumed that he'd spent his life being haunted by dreaming about his admittedly barbaric actions. If he had, he'd been entirely incorrect because Freak had never had a nightmare in his life.

For him, maybe this cave was just another musty hole to navigate through before he could have his goal.

Maybe.

Freak lifted a paw to his muzzle, though, carefully looking into the depths before him. He could see nothing—just black emptiness. As the smell of death wrapped around him, placing a cloth against his mouth and pressing so that the li-tigon found it hard to breathe, he searched for something—anything.

But there was a dropoff, or perhaps some kind of thick curtain that prevented light from entering or escaping. Freak's eyes were powerful and well-suited to night operations, but he saw nothing—he heard nothing, either, and the aroma that the Lion Sheikh has described was completely homogenous.

In short, the li-tigon's senses were useless and would likely remain so until he entered the cave.

Roderik said something then that Freak never heard. The li-tigon replied—he believed—but he forgot what happened to him in the next seconds because his mind was all at once and entirely engulfed by the fact that he had just stepped into the Nightmare Cave.

There was, it seemed, some sort of wall between the Nightmare Cave and the rest of the world. To be sure, there was a strong sense of uneasy souls and death about the Forbidden Island in general—the core invaders had cross a wall of sorts by simply entering it—but nothing could compare to the leap Freak made when he entered the Nightmare Cave.

It was like all of the life had been sucked out of him before his body was allowed to pass. And then, what constituted Freak as a person was returned, slowly, and incompletely.

When he returned to his body, Freak was panting and shivering and struggling to catch his breath. He saw stars and fell over, paws weakly twitching as he tried to get up—but bright splotches of white and blue swam across his vision and through his mind, seeking out and sucking away anything but cold, complete terror.

Something wet was clinging to his cheek—mud. Freak blinked and tried to clear his vision, but his body would not react as it was supposed to.

Pathetically, the li-tigon groaned, attempting to tell Aoi and Roderik to stay back. His voice came out slurred and muffled by the thick slime; fingernail-sized chunks of the soil mixture sprayed from around his mouth as the low, incoherent moan continued for several seconds more. That brief period of time dragged on, and on, and _on_; Freak was suffering though he wasn't exactly in grievous physical pain. He felt completely worn and tired and defeated: even his coat seemed to sag, only barely attached to his frame by a few sparse bits of connective tissue.

His hearing was gone. A dull, high-pitched ringing had taken its place, continuing to reverberate through the li-tigon's skull for a long, long time.

And then—slowly—the world returned. It did not do in some constant, predictable way. Rather, little bits and pieces of what the li-tigon had come to regard as reality returned at random—his ability to perceive one tone, for example, would come back immediately preceded by the feeling at the tip of his tail. Daltonism held out for so long that Freak felt certain his ability to perceive color would not return, until shades comprised by red and green imbricated into the rest of the li-tigon's vision.

Freak moved one paw. Then he moved the other. And then, slowly, he pressed against the soggy decay beneath him and he stood up on weak and cold but resolute limbs.

He was cold and he was shaking, but he was alive. After taking a few moments to collect himself, ensuring that his body was in the best shape possible, the li-tigon turned around.

He was not surprised by what he saw.

Seeing their leader fall to the ground, convulsing, both Aoi and Roderik had moved to help. They'd assumed that he'd taken some sort of attack—maybe he'd been shot by some unseen gunner with a suppressed weapon; whatever it was, he was down and needed defending. This is what had drawn both lions into the Nightmare Cave.

Now they were both fifty yards away, gaunt and pale and hyperventilating. Aoi was crying noiselessly; clear tears rolled down her pale cheeks without her realization while she resisted the _very_ strong urge to continue to run until she was out of the Forbidden Island entirely—she'd entered the Nightmare Cave for no more than a split second. But in that time she had felt things that she simply could not deal with.

Freak turned to Roderik—the old lion was in no better of a condition than the White Sands female. He supported himself against a tree and struggled to look up while blood dripped out of his mouth, slowly running down his chin and his neck to blossom out through his mane.

Aoi said something then. But Freak couldn't hear it—in fact, he noted, he couldn't hear _anything_ outside of the Nightmare Cave; from within the dark depths came a low, malicious sort of buzz but that was the only thing the li-tigon could hear apart from his own bodily functions.

The lioness seemed to realize what was going on when Freak tilted his head and tapped his ear with a paw, signaling that he couldn't hear. She approached—somewhat—before Roderik managed to follow her, stumbling to a messy halt fifteen or so yards from the Cave's entrance.

Freak was more disciplined than most—the Lion Sheikh assumes that a great many of us might let a word or two slip out when trying to mouth and mime instructions to someone on the opposite side of a thick piece of glass, for example. Freak, however, kept absolutely quiet and simply explained, calmly, slowly, that Aoi and Roderik were to go back to the Pride Lands and do what they could—he would go after the Master of darkness alone.

As the li-tigon spoke, he acknowledged to himself that he had guessed that things were fated to end up like that anyway. Freak had already fought and defeated his twin—in a way—and he had done that alone. As the Warrior King of not only the Pride Lands, but the entire Land of the Spirits… it was his responsibility to confront the dark Master—his responsibility alone.

And so there was no surprise and no new fear when Aoi and Roderik wished him good luck before running to the southeast. There was no purpose in going back to Usiku and Nala to inform them of the situation, and the less time they took to get back the better—even the battle plains laid out for the Pride Landers were not perfect. They could not hold out forever.

There was no reason for Freak to keep waiting. He had to get moving.

Now that he'd entered the Nightmare Cave and tempered himself to the fact that he could only use perhaps fifteen percent of his mind—the rest was occupied either with screaming at him, begging him to leave posthaste or resisting the same efforts—things weren't so bad. To be sure, the lack of visibility was hard to cope with. So was the increasingly rank odor that stifled his breath.

Freak tried not to think of what he might be stepping on as he continued forward. Presumably, there were walls around him but he could not see them—judging from the way sound failed to echo, however, he was not in a large enclosure of any sort. It was probable that he was in a tunnel of some sort, but the li-tigon could not reasonably guess at its size. Any echolocative abilities he had were rendered useless by the fact that his surroundings were not hard wood or stone—they absorbed sound to great effect.

For some time, it actually seemed possible that Freak's ordeal was simply what it appeared to be—an unknowably amount of time spent wandering around in the foul darkness until he found his way out of the Cave. He tried to keep his mind clear, however, forcing himself not to think too much about anything. There wasn't the intuitive prickling at the back of his neck that told him that he was being watched—but still, Freak's spidey-sense was tingling. Something was keeping track of him; it was observing him curiously rather than intently. He didn't know what was going on or how or why, but he was sure that something was coming. Something was coming soon.

The temperature had increased somewhat, but it was still uncomfortably cold. Freak had been in darkness more complete than anything else he'd ever known—so the slightest, most distant ray of light made him look up in surprise. There was something there, something in the Nightmare Cave—it was around a corner approximately… no, Freak couldn't tell how far away the dim glow was because he had no frame of reference. He couldn't even extrapolate the distance from how blurred the lit parts of the Cave were because there was no definition to the Cave's walls. It might have been five hundred yards or five thousand; it probably wasn't closer than that.

Freak knew that he was almost certainly walking into a trap, but the Nightmare Cave _itself_ was a trap. Besides, there wasn't really anywhere else he _could_ go besides toward the light—the li-tigon tested this by purposefully changing his bearing to approximately ten degrees to the right of the far-off glow. He felt his shoulder press into the spongy, moist interior of the Cave and knew that there was only one place to go.

His guard was up, not just in preparation of some kind of direct assault by a living being—the li-tigon imagined himself taking a wrong step and plunging down and down and won straight into Hell and changed the way he walked so that most of his weight was on his hind legs.

He walked for perhaps ten minutes—he kept track, or at least he thought he did, by counting off the seconds not in his head but out loud, very quietly, linearly correlating each successive second to the way he breathed. In this manner, the li-tigon probably kept a relatively accurate count of the time that had passed—he didn't trust the internal activities of his mind to work properly in a place like this.

The closer Freak got, the more nauseated and ill he felt—but he didn't stop. Everyone was in danger and the only one that could fix things was him. Everyone was counting on him to go on.

With a foreboding thrill, Freak dropped into a defensive stance that put his center of gravity well below his feet—it would be hard to knock him down when he was standing like that, and although retaliatory capacities were severely hampered, Freak could defend himself and avoid serious injury easily. Now that he was once again moving normally, rather than at warp speed, the li-tigon had bear in mind that he was not a superman anymore.

For that reason, when the first living being he'd encountered in the Nightmare Cave showed itself, Freak was ready for it.

The canine jumped out of the lit part of the cave, still around the corner and out of Freak's view. It was only visible for a split second, barking loudly and snarling to tell the li-tigon to stay away—it left as suddenly as it had appeared, turning and sprinting back to where it had come from. Something, clearly, had called it back.

Freak didn't go on, however, not for a full second. He was shocked by what he'd seen, although he couldn't be sure of—well, anything. It had seemed, however, that the creature that had exposed itself to him was as dead as it was alive—and it wasn't like the weird, but somewhat cutesy zombies that he'd encountered in the Bloody Shadows. What he had just seen was twisted and demonic, even more so than Kifo could ever have hoped to be.

…But it was probably just a trick of the light, or perhaps some kind of suggestion implanted into the li-tigon's mind by whatever power controlled the goings-on of the Nightmare Cave. What he'd just seen was probably nothing more than a dog—maybe it looked a little odd, but so what? Freak could take on a practically unlimited number of dogs, even in a place and situation like this. After all, he'd spent weeks in the Desert learning to do just that under the tutelage of his grandmother. He was the one that had turned the tides of battles and wars over and over and over again—he wasn't afraid of dogs, no matter if they walked as if alive with their chests split open for him to look at what lay inside.

Freak began to move again, albeit rather more slowly than he would have preferred to. The closer he got to the bend in the tunnel—now he had a good idea of how far away it was—the more his nose told him that there were, in fact, several dogs there. He'd adapted to the foul pit into which he'd fallen, at least to a degree, and that was good. Freak knew the benefits of fighting on one's home turf, so he'd always strived to make whatever was his battleground his home as well.

What was lighting the twisting path ahead was unclear; Freak imagined that it was some sort of bioluminescence judging from its color and lack of intensity. He didn't think it was important, however, and for that reason the li-tigon kept his eyes focused on an area in space just a few inches in front of his nose—like this, it would take him a second to focus on any given entity, it was true, but he was extremely unlike to miss any motion even at the extreme ends of his peripheral vision.

Freak was prepared to defend himself, but he was not prepared to attack in any manner. So, in a way, he was put in a disadvantage when he rounded the corner to see what was going on in full clarity.

The li-tigon's eyes had not misled him, it seemed. The dog he'd seen really was every bit as unnatural as it had appeared—but the Lion Sheikh does not wish to decrease the momentum of this passage by indulging his readers with a lengthy description. When Freak saw what had the dogs' attention, his heart stopped—and then kicked into overdrive.

What he was seeing made no sense. But this was the Nightmare Cave—the regular laws of logic and nature did not apply.

There was a cliff to one side of a large, gaping cavity in the middle of the Cave. The rock there was solid, but tilted—the cliff's peaks were at least 80 degrees or so with respect to the horizontal ground. At the point where it was closest to the ground, the cliff got to within thirty feet of the rotting, wet bottom of the Nightmare Cave—and that was close enough to make the ravenous pack of dogs waiting below salivate and make constantly higher advances up the sheer rock face.

The reason was, of course, that a meal was waiting to drop down to them. And that meal was none other than Sikia.

Seeing her in the flesh… Freak couldn't think straight for a moment. He held back any serious physical response, however, until he realized that the lioness's grip on the rock face was not going to last—slowly, but surely, she was slipping. Her feet scrambled against the cliffside in a desperate but unsuccessful bid for purchase—there was no stopping the inevitable and only very little delaying it.

Freak could have passed the dogs by—if he was in a normal part of the Land of the Spirits. Here, however, there was an impossibly strong force pressing him to engage the dogs and the li-tigon knew that that's what he had to do.

This, it seemed, would be his first nightmare. Freak confronted it defiantly, however, announcing his presence and intentions with a powerful roar—in response, the dogs turned and stared, for a moment, before spreading out into a well thought-out formation.

Meanwhile, however, Sikia stopped crying and turned, eyes wide—and then she lost her grip. Yet, the lioness didn't realize this, even as she fell, with increasing speed, toward the ground and the dogs and a violent fate. She was too surprised and too busy smiling and laughing that Freak was coming to save her yet again.

* * *

The Forbidden invaders did not let up. Into the Pride Lands they poured by the thousands; almost all of them died within seconds of getting within range of the Pride Landers' or Kifo's attacks. Still, they did their share, wearing down the defending forces and sapping at their energy—they killed a few, yes, but the real killing would begin soon enough.

The defenders were alive and kicking, and still at good strength. They'd fought long and hard enough to drastically thin the ranks of the invading darkness, but there was no time to relax or exchange accolades—because now, the Forbidden Island's final warriors were marching on Pride Rock.

These weren't the ragtag crowd of brawlers that had admittedly made a good deal of headway in the Pride Lands—these were truly frightening opponents.

In general, they were human, although there were a significant number of other species represented in the best the Forbidden Island had to offer. Armed with good weapons—not the knockoff junk that was standard fare for the rest of the military—they were also armored and in some cases equipped with secondary and even tertiary weapons, such as pistols and blades.

They also had carefully-applied red tattoos on their foreheads and arms and chests. It seemed that the Master of darkness had been doing his homework; paint-spells were now within his capacity as well.

How, the Lion Sheikh hears his readers ask, did this powerful force get into position—in the immediate vicinity of Pride Rock—without being noticed? The answer is simple: they entered the area invisibly. Even then, half of the impressively-built warriors were difficult to see even from close range—and they would be the ones that kicked down the door, so to speak, to allow their more obvious comrades entry into Pride Rock so that the killing could really begin.

One might wonder why the Forbidden forces at large simply didn't amass near Pride Rock and open fire to reduce their enemies' hideout into rubble. The answer was simple—Pride Rock itself was invulnerable, and the more basic laws of the Land of the Spirits still held—it was an area where an external force could not do violence. No amount of snipers or racketeers could have done anything to touch the monolith or the beings that fought there—not without opening themselves up to attack as well.

This level of protection was the only thing that kept the invasion from being a shoe-in for the forces of darkness. The Pride Landers and their Nomadic and Desert friends were able to engage their opponents in a choke point—in this manner, they kept their enemies at bay. While it was true that the killing was not as rapid as it had been when they were out in the open, they weren't in very much danger either—in fact, not a single friendly fatality had been incurred since they'd fallen back to Pride Rock.

That was true, of course, until the unexploded ordnance left at the peak of the massive structure had fallen down, taking everyone in the area by surprise.

Oh, the front had been re-established—but there weren't many lions and hyenas that had avoided a debilitating blast of disease and bacteria.

Uvuli had, somehow. She had been at the front lines when the sneak attack had been launched for that reason, she hadn't noticed what was going on for a few seconds. After taking a karambit to the cheek, however, the young female had leapt back and applied pressure to the deep cut so that it would coagulate and allow her to get back in the game as soon as possible.

It was at that point that she realized that some of her most beloved friends were literally being eaten alive.

Imagine the young female's shock and horror as she came face to face with Shenzi—one who she'd always looked up to—as the former Outlands leader struggled to scrape a growing swath of rotting flesh and pus from her head, succeeding only in spreading the damage to her paws. Now, Shenzi was on the ground, agonized and delirious from her wound—and there was nothing that Uvuli or anyone else could do for her.

As the husk of gray fur and bones that had once been a wise and resilient leader shriveled up, threatening to burst into flame from the powerful exothermic reactions taking place within, Uvuli turned back to the fight with her mind carefully numbed. She focused on doing nothing more than dodging and blocking and hitting back, or at least she tried to. No matter what, she couldn't get the image of her practical big sister's face, inches away, rotting and burning and dying from within.

* * *

Freak saw Sikia drop and felt time slow down. He did not break with precedent, however—somehow he recalled with stunning clarity that he did not open his mouth and shout a long, loud, and quite emphatic "no." Rather, the li-tigon saved his breath and used the oxygen left in his lungs to pump power to his legs, because he had to move _fast_.

The dogs, it seemed, were not completely rational—rather than facing their threat and engaging it with the violence and will necessary to remove it, their focus changed the moment it became clear that Sikia was no longer out of reach. Perhaps that was wise, in a way—if they could kill the lioness before Freak could get to them, then the li-tigon would have no reason to attack them. Not while he had a far more pressing objective than simple revenge, anyway.

The test of gravity versus muscle and determination honed to a razor-sharp edge by years of practice, training, and observation was contentious to the last second. Approximately halfway into her fall, Sikia realized what was going on and turned around in midair, so that at the very least she'd land in position to defend or attack as necessary. She was still accelerating, of course—the brief distance from the cliff to the ground was nowhere near what it would take for her to reach terminal velocity. Freak, on the other hand, now had a warm start and was simply working on speeding up more and more and more—If he could get one swipe on one hyena he'd be doing a lot to help Sikia, much less if he could lower his shoulder and barrel through them all.

What neither the li-tigon nor the lioness had prepared for, however, was what happened next.

Instead of staying where they were and waiting for Sikia to come to them, the dogs attacked, and not in a manner that Freak could possibly have expected.

They jumped, it was true, but the simple upward motion was not enough to carry them to their prey. What allowed them to attack Sikia was the fact that their snouts, horribly, were attached by stretchy ligaments to the rest of their skulls. Some muscle launched the dogs' mouths and teeth forward, trailing saliva and blood and rot until they clamped down on the lioness.

She was screaming before she hit the ground; her form was broken by the shocking assault. Reflexively, Sikia had tried to dodge and was partially successful—one pair of jaws flew past her, doing no more harm than grazing the side of her fair, tawny fur. The rest of the living projectiles, however, found their mark and the lioness was bit on the foreleg, hind paw, side, and the fleshy area just next to her shoulder blade.

Freak saw this, accepted it, and recognized that Sikia was already taking severe flesh damage from the dogs' immensely powerful jaws. The li-tigon had learned the hard way that the canines of the Dark Forest could bite _hard_, a lot harder than he could. Presumably, this ability evolved due to the canines' lack of size and large, purpose-built fangs like those Freak had used with deadly results ever since the day he was born.

The lioness landed in an injured, bloody mess and in response the dogs retracted their jaws, giving her a heartbeat of respite. That, of course, wasn't enough for Sikia to get back to her feet—she only had time to look up to see her salivating attackers reseat their most powerful weapons inside their skulls before lunging at her with unthinking, unshakeable intent.

That was when Freak arrived.

Instead of stopping and engaging each of the attackers individually, he simply careened through all of the dogs on his left side, preventing Sikia from being surrounded. He did so in his own signature way—by smashing his head down at the last second, the li-tigon felt the grim satisfaction of knowing that he's collapsed the first dog's chest, causing several of his internal organs to rupture or outright burst, dripping viscous, colorful fluid onto the ground below.

Freak kept running, however, rather than simply taking his enemies to the ground and breaking off that attack to clear a perimeter around Sikia. It wouldn't take much more to convert the blow he was dealing from a palpable strike to a real turn of the table—so the li-tigon trusted Sikia to protect herself at least for the moment. He'd be with her again as soon as he could.

Unfortunately, his enemies recovered quickly and seemed to sense what was coming. The dogs squirmed about, so that even was Freak reached forward to wrap his mighty forelegs around the bundle of flesh in front of him, two cleanly escaped. They ignored the li-tigon the second they were on their feet, however, and simply raced back toward Sikia—Freak, apparently, wasn't the only one that could keep his eye on the ball.

Although it was tough to get traction on the yielding, heavily organic ground in the Nightmare Cave, Freak managed. Every muscle and vein in his legs was highlighted, then, as he forced his enemies forward, digging his claws deep into their flesh. His own forelegs were attacked, ineffectively, but this scarcely even registered to the li-tigon—he felt no pain.

Since the cliff Sikia had been dangling off of was only feet away, there was still plenty of rock left in the area the Freak slammed his enemies into. There was a sickly crunch and slight explosion as hair was forced from lungs and blood vessels popped from being overloaded—but the li-tigon did not believe that he'd killed the three dogs that had remained in his grasp, not by a longshot.

To be sure, he'd crushed his enemies into the semi-solid wall in front of him, and that was helpful. While they struggled to escape, Freak could severely injured them to the point that when they came out they would be easy to take down—and that meant that he could get back to Sikia that much more quickly. So, considering his options, the li-tigon took a few steps back—what was the best way to press his advantage?

The answer seemed obvious. His headbutt had worked well to change both the momentum of the fight and severely injure at least one of his enemies—so why not follow up with another similar attack?

With that in mind, Freak began to run again. He struck the dog closest to him directly in the side again, and although that canine's chest was mostly liquid already, Freak felt that he'd landed another serious blow. This battle was far from decided—he could still save Sikia, but to do that, he had to forget about her for the moment.

The li-tigon ignored the indescribable liquid slowly rolling down his forehead and turned to face the two dogs that had fallen away from him. He glanced to the side before assuming a broad but not low fighting stance—he wanted to be ready to move and attack, not dodge and defend.

The three that he'd smashed into the wall were pawing about in the soil and air, both so dark and rotten that they often mixed without Freak's notice. It would be safe to ignore them for the moment—and Freak was confident that he could finish two dogs in short order, no matter how demonic they were.

For a moment, though, the li-tigon simply watched the way his foes moved. Now that he was engaging him in a simple paw-to-paw fight rather than a bum rush, he had to know what tactics they were likely to use.

Their motions were surprisingly fluid although not particularly agile. In a rough semicircle, the two canines paced across the ground before Freak, strategically placed either directly between him and Sikia or in a position to stop him from getting to her in short order. Their tongues—at least two and a half times as long as normal—flickered out of their mouths in sporadic and strange patterns, the twin barbs at the end stretching out toward Freak.

They were sizing him up as well.

Freak was about to attack when he took note of a somewhat significant fact that would force him to change the way he thought about and executed the fight. In general, Freak relied on his sheer physical mass to hold his enemies down while he tore them apart with his teeth; when he was younger or in a hurry or outnumbered he resorted to speed and agility.

All of these general strategies, however, would have to be severely reconsidered if not simply thrown out. The dogs had two sets of limbs: forelegs and hindlegs ending in bald, clawed paws. But they also had a set of… appendages, perhaps, located in the geometric centers of their bodies.

Two large, deadly claws on either side of the dogs poked out of scabbed holes in their chests. Mounted on boney "fingers", Freak imagined that they could be deployed extremely quickly and with reasonable power. The idea of having one of those daggers plunged into a fleshy part of his body—or perhaps between two ribs—was fairly concerning. And so, the li-tigon simply hissed, dangerously, and swiped at the air for a moment.

And then he knew what to do.

One style of fighting that he'd never properly learned was that of the Pride Lands. The Desert style of winning fights involved acrobatic leaping and spinning in the air and the Hindustani way tended toward circling, mostly, punctuated by brief but intense contests of wrestling and biting.

He'd observed that Aoi tended toward a high volume of claw strikes and open-paw strikes to destroy her enemies' balance before finishing things with tearing but relatively shallow bites. And the Nomads seemed to react more than anything else, ducking and dodging and landing hits on their opponents weapons until their disarmed enemies could be dispatched with minimal risk.

But the Pride Landers… they fought with power more than anything else.

Their blows were never backed up by anything less than eighty percent of their full strength. Whether it was throws, or bites, or strikes that were designed to bash and batter more than cut, taking even a single hit from a Pride Lander was an experience that wouldn't be forgotten.

Maybe this was the way Freak ought to fight these mutants.

He tested this manner of fighting in his mind, for a second, and then raced toward the nearest dog.

Freak was prepared for the counterattack that was launched in his direction. The canine's jaws shot out so quickly that if Freak didn't see them—he simply saw a blur near the dog's mouth and threw his head to one side. When a wave of displaced air rushed past him, Freak brought his paw up and grabbed the tube of muscle and connective tissue that powered and attached the dog's mouth to the rest of its body.

That move was unexpected, and the li-tigon's enemies were taken off-guard. Freak followed up, though, and rather than pulling his enemy in he simply bit, hard, yanking his jaws to the side when his teeth met flesh.

A small explosion of blood told the li-tigon that his tactic had worked perfectly; now the dog was injured and lacking in one major weapon. Freak released the slippery flesh in his paw, allowing it to recoil uselessly back into the dog's head—the whole time, he focused not on the damage he had done but on his next move. Sikia could not hold out for long.

Getting flanked was pretty dangerous, particularly by foes such as these. The other dog's jaws were fully functional and while occupied with the injured dog, Freak could all too easily take a shot to the neck. He'd have to be very careful to get past these two without injury.

With that in mind, the li-tigon feinted toward the uninjured canine before dodging to the side and racing toward the hurt canine. As he did, he felt a presence rush past him and knew that he'd evaded a deadly wound.

It was difficult to imagine the state of the dogs Freak had pushed through the wall. The one right in front of him was sickly; the grimy ends of its ribs stuck out from a sunken-in chest dotted, sporadically, with mangy, dirty fur. Despite that, however, it was clear that the animal had a great deal of strength—Freak could see the muscles rolling beneath its skin with startling ease. He couldn't underestimate his foes or take anything for granted around them, regardless of how badly Sikia needed him.

Rather than striking horizontally with his paw, Freak surprised his enemy by feinting, again, and then striking _up_ward with his other paw. For a second, only Freak's hindpaws were on the ground—but his blow connected directly where it was supposed to.

The dog's throat was slit open from bottom up. The deep wound that Freak gouged into its neck cut through muscle, nerve, and cartilage—and if the canine had been alive, then he would have been alive for only seconds longer.

But Freak was fighting a demon. And though the ferocious slash gave Freak a momentary advantage, the fight was not over.

Indeed, now that the distance between himself and the dog had closed, Freak was no long invulnerable from assault. For a moment, the li-tigon tried to dance out of range, but it was to no avail.

A paw, somewhat diminutive in size, lifted off the ground and rested in the air next to Freak's face for the briefest second.

Then, the li-tigon saw stars.

He came to flying through the air, but recovered quickly and twisted about to land on his feet. Tasting blood and feeling a bruise spread across the side of his face, Freak hissed, instinctively, and contemplated his next move.

He couldn't block attacks like that, and he couldn't really dodge them either. These two simple caveats severely limited the li-tigon's options, but he would have to manage.

The mental clock Freak had started at the beginning of the conflict suggested that no more than ten seconds had passed since Sikia had hit the floor. She could probably hold out for another forty—so Freak could still save her… maybe.

There was a flicker of movement behind the li-tigon. Realizing what it was immediately, he jumped and lashed out with his most powerful brute-force weapon—his hind leg.

The small striking end that was Freak's paw struck the other dog Freak was engaging directly in the lower jaw at precisely the moment when the canine had shot its mouth toward Freak. As a result, the transfer of kinetic energy that occurred was so great that when the li-tigon was on the ground again his own paw actually stung from dull pain… but it had done its job.

As Freak watched the shattered mandibles of his second enemy trail, useless and limp across the floor before snapping back into place, he saw how he was going to win the fight—and so without waiting for some concern or consideration to delay him, the li-tigon jumped into action.

The blow Freak threw next was obvious, perhaps insultingly so, but his enemy did not dodge. The striped feline rose into the air, drawing his paw back and letting loose a mind-numbing roar—and then he struck with all the force of a thunderbolt.

The li-tigon's paw, every bit as developed and massive as his grandfather's, arced through the air too quickly to be seen. It struck the dog's face and slowed down the slightest bit; the sheer mass of Freak's padded appendage overwhelmed his slender foe completely.

The blow broke several bones at least and threw the dog's entire body to the side, but Freak didn't give the downed canine a chance to recover or strike back. He dived forward, pinning the canine to the ground in a strange but extremely effective mixture of the ancestral knowledge his lion quarters gave him and the down-and-dirty Hindustani way, the li-tigon dug his claws into his enemy and held him still.

A second later, Freak had locked up the dog's limbs by using his body weight and his own limbs carefully—and then, things were finished with a bite to the back of the neck followed by a quick but brutal _tug._

The dog's body and head came apart.

And then, Freak flung the latter part through the air. It missed its mark, but the delay of dodging its comrade's broken body gave Freak time to get to his fee to take out the remaining dog. After assuming a defensive stance with a low center of gravity, Freak hissed, loudly, so that a mixture of blood and saliva sprayed from his mouth.

He was twelve seconds in. There were thirty-eight to go…

But Freak let the dog come to him regardless. The canine was already significantly hurt from the powerful back-kick Freak had delivered to its jaw, but it moved with great speed and malice regardless.

Its assault was surprisingly clever. Rather than simply dashing toward Freak, the dog moved in a sinusoidal curve, zigzagging to the left and right, randomly, to increase the odds that Freak might be taken while in an awkward position. Instead of constantly adjusting his paws, though, Freak simply tracked his enemy with his eyes and waited, watching, with the thick fur that comprised his ruff and mane upraised just in case the worst happened.

Freak's muscles tightened just a heartbeat before he moved explosively.

The dog had moved in for a bite, for some reason, or perhaps it was some sort of ruse to distract Freak and then attack with a real weapon. It didn't work, though—Freak was simply too fast.

The second the canine was in range, the li-tigon tightened his paw into a tight fist and launched it forward. He not just the powerful supporting muscles of his chest and back into it—rather, Freak turned his entire body so that he could engage his core as well as a good portion of his weight.

Feline appendages were not built for punching. But they could be adapted to the task, apparently with resounding success.

Resonance, resonance; aye, that be the word—the manner in which the dog's entire skeleton was shaken due to the powerful hit could be likened to the frequency of an inductor in an LRC circuit. The canine's flesh was not heavy, but it had some momentum—and so while the structure of the demon was stopped in its tracks, the water-based muscles and organs continued on for just an inch or so before snapping back into place, often misaligned and damaged.

Freak's paw hurt; he shook it irritated before gingerly holding it off the ground, watching, for a moment, as the dog stumbled back and fell, apparently incapable of standing. Some nerve must have been pinched or something, because it seemed all but paralyzed from the neck down—and that meant that Freak could finish things quickly.

Thirty-seven seconds to go.

There really was no point in completely finishing the second dog, so Freak didn't bother to. In his race to Sikia, he simply struck the side of the canine's head with his paw—and the sickly _pop_ he was rewarded with told him that there was no need to worry about that demon any more.

Freak's pupils were fully dilated; though, owing to their deep gray shade and the dim lighting of the Nightmare Cave, it would be difficult to notice that. One dog in particular, however, looked away from Sikia—and stared directly _into_ the li-tigon.

When their eyes met, Freak gasped—and then fell to the ground.

His body skidded for several yards before coming to rest. His chest rose and fell rapidly as the rest of the dogs broke off from Sikia to go after him, snarling and racing one another with their claws unsheathed and ready to go.

Something had happened when Freak had looked into that dog's eyes—something absolutely venomous. Freak had felt his blood vessels contract, nearly collapsing in on themselves—and then he looked away and he could function again.

There was no time to question what had happened—Freak had either severely overestimated Sikia's ability to hold her enemies off or he had been counting very, very, very slowly. Either way, it was clear from the way the lioness was bleeding and the way her left hindpaw was mutilated to the bone that she needed him immediately—no more time ould be wasted.

Freak got up and kept his eyes carefully averted from the dog that had dropped him literally with a glance. It wasn't easy—the demons worked as a team, or more accurately a single being. The moved in such a manner that to get a clear look at the rest of his foes, Freak would be guided toward locking eyes with the canine that was hanging back.

The distance between the two opposing forces closed rapidly. The dogs' paths intertwined amongst themselves so that it was that much more difficult to predict which would attack and when, much less how. The lack of traction on the ground made for a great disadvantage for Freak—he couldn't stop or turn on a dime, and to fight so many powerful, quick enemies at once, agility was his greatest weapon.

It looked like he'd have to rely on brute strength alone for this one.

And that was probably okay. Freak had taken apart the previous few dogs without breaking a sweat; more enemies would complicate things but he was sure that he could prevail.

The fight was gory and it was not quick. Freak's attacks were powerful, yes, but they were significantly faster than the blows that one who had been trained only in the Pride Lands' martial art might have thrown. The limited restraint and careful application of force prevented the dogs from getting a significant grab or blow off—the absolute worst Freak took was a painful strike to the nose that disrupted the delicate capillaries in his snout somewhat, but that was all. He was bruised but he wasn't bleeding much, but his enemies lay on the ground, dead—often in different pieces.

Freak finished off the final dog by allowing the canine to get a paw on him—and then picking the demon's body up with his jaws and flinging the slight weight into the cliffside. A dull, resonant crack told the li-tigon that he had no need to get a rabies shot—all the remained was the final dog, still laying in wait over Sikia with his eyes carefully tracking Freak's head.

Freak took a brief moment to look himself over. He was mostly uninjured and his heart rate and breathing were only somewhat elevated. He was dirty, to be sure, but that didn't concern him and it couldn't have been avoided anyway. The marginal lighting in that part of the Nightmare Cave told the li-tigon that his fur had darkened a shade or three—but that only made him blend in more. He was in excellent fighting condition.

So he turned to face his enemy—but not quite. Keeping his gaze locked on the dog's feet, he saw that Sikia was alive and in stable condition—but the remaining canine had planted his foot firmly on the lioness's neck. She wasn't able to fight back, for some reason, but Freak imagined that she was unconscious. The dogs had had a lot of unchecked time with her, after all.

The li-tigon's lips peeled back into a vicious but silent snarl. He began to move forward—first, at a slow, heavy walk, before breaking into a near-sprint, racing at his enemy with the full force and aggression of a hurricane. He tore through the ground in his path, keeping his gaze low—and then, when he was close enough, he leaped into the air.

In a manner decidedly more graceful than a lion was capable of, Freak folded his paws to reduce drag, using his tail to keep himself balanced. The dog hadn't moved—it must have intended to get into a wrestling contest, but Freak had felt the strength of its comrades. It would not be able to stand up to him for long.

After passing the highest point in the jump, the li-tigon unsheathed his claws and stretched his forelegs forward to cut the canine up some before the rest of his weight came down. His path through the air continued—and then stopped sharply.

Freak did not fall and he did not continue past, over, or through his enemy. He was simply frozen in midair, for a moment, suspended in place by intangible strings. The shock lasted just long enough for Freak to fail to act before he was thrown aside with enough force to dash him against the muddy cave side.

Winded and more confused than anything else, Freak considered what had happened as he took in a deep breath and ensured that he was not seriously injured. After scrambling to his feet and wincing at his bruised flank, the li-tigon realized what he had to do—at least, that's what he hoped.

He breathed deeply for a moment, calming his body down. The adrenaline that usually raced through his veins during combat subsided as Freak moved forward—slowly, deliberately, until he was ten feet from his foe. He planted his feet, then, and slowly began to look up.

Freak had entered the Nightmare Cave without fighting. The darkness had entered him and—no, that's not what it had done. Freak had directly faced his opposition and had only passed the entry examination by being as he was and taking the hate, guilt, sorrow, and depravity that had nearly poisoned both Aoi and Roderik.

Maybe that's what he had to do here.

The last coherent thought Freak had before his mind was torn apart was that dogs, really, can have quite nice-looking eyes.

* * *

Rafiki's stick was gone. But he was not useless without it—not quite. He'd spent several years training in combat arts, and that was why he could hold his own against _lions_. Although he was now aging much, much faster than he ever had before in his life, he could help. He could help a little bit.

As an ethical altruist, the mandrill did believe in sacrificing for the greater good, even when it came to one's own safety—even when it came to one's own life. For the first time, however, he saw his own hypocrisy—he'd always preached against egoism and selfishness, but now, when his own neck was on the line, he felt nothing but fear.

Maybe it was just because his enemies were forces straight from the pits of Hell.

He kept walking, though; that slow, somber march forward continued until only a hundred yards remained between him and his enemies.

He could still run, and no one would ever know. They'd assume that his body was destroyed, somehow. He'd be remembered as a martyr and hero—provided that anyone remained to remember him.

That thought might have made Rafiki's decision for him, and the Lion Sheikh would prefer if you were to think of things like that. It was just a complete coincident that a second before Rafiki began to race forward the Forbidden invaders noticed him.

* * *

Darkness broke, but light did not come over Freak—not immediately. He knew where he was, though, and what had happened—and he knew how close it had been.

Struggling to align his thoughts, it occurred to the li-tigon that the area around him was no longer washed in a dim light. Regardless, he felt that he had not been moved from the large cavern within the Nightmare Cave where he'd stared the final dog down—with apparent success. He was alone, apparently—he thought that because he wasn't being attacked, despite his pathetic condition.

Freak doubled over and nearly vomited. His bile caught in his throat, though, so instead he simply spat out a thick mixture of congealed blood and saliva. He felt better after that and stood up, somewhat more stable on his feet—though he still felt like he'd been run over by a cement mixer.

And then Freak realized—he really was alone. The cavern was still lit up and he could see and smell and hear just fine—but he was alone. There were no bodies…

And there was no Sikia.

Freak could have been out for hours, but he simply chose not to believe so. He had to get out of the Cave; he had to find the Master of darkness and defeat him… but he couldn't leave the area so quickly. He had to know what happened to Sikia.

And so he looked around carefully. From what Freak could tell, though, everything was the same—the walls were made of the same, homogenous muck and the cliff was dry and harsh and bare. The ground was still soft and wet—everything was the same. Even the pawprints that Freak recognized as his, his enemies', and Sikia's were strewn all about the area, telling a tale of recent and furious combat.

What had happened when he'd looked into the dog's eyes?... Freak couldn't be sure, of course, but he was sure of what hadn't happened—he hadn't died and he hadn't been cast into exile again, perhaps in some other universe or some other dimension. He'd know if that had happened—somehow, he would. The world was the same, as was Freak's place in it... but the same could not be said for Sikia.

Too much time had passed. Freak unsheathed his claws for a brief second, so that twin patterns of neat, superficial pinpricks appeared in the ground before his paws—and then he shut his eyes. After all, he couldn't even shut Sikia's.

"I'm sorry," the li-tigon said. "I couldn't save you… again."

He didn't wait for the familiar hollow guilt in his heart to answer—he simply turned around and began to walk away. The soft sounds of his paws meeting the ground did not echo: he was in a cave that was organic and not tough and solid. And yet, some seconds later, Freak realized—he was listening to eight paws move, not four.

There was someone behind him.

Freak accepted that fact with a dose of unfamiliar fear. His motto—everyone is a threat—is one that he'd unconsciously lived by for the vast majority of his life. In the past months, though, he'd come to forget what was arguably the most important lesson of his whole life—without going around with such a mindset in his first years on the planet, there was no question: he'd be dead.

Now, though, Freak had come to trust, at least to a degree, that the universe wouldn't suddenly attack him without some sort of warning or opportunity for negotiation or preemptive strike. Perhaps that was why he now found his search for a viable course of action fruitless—he had no idea what to do.

In the end, Freak simply turned—very, very, _very_ slowly. His ears angled so that the slightest noise from his rear would set off an immediate chain reaction that would cause him to leap back and prepare to attack or defend or flee as necessary. With his body at full alert, Freak continued to turn… and then he was face to face with Sikia.

She was tired and gaunt and thin and sad-faced. Chunks of fur and flesh alike were missing, and the deep gashes and gouges in her broken body smelled like they'd been left out in the sunlight for several days. She was rotting from within—flies the size of dimes flew freely in and out of Sikia's body.

"You didn't save me."

Freak barely registered those words. He was too busy staring at Sikia and wondering how she could possibly be there, in front of him, alive—what should he do, to make sure that she was even there? This was the Nightmare Cave, where reality and fantasy were too closely intermeshed to be differentiated.

"I am… sorry, Sikia," the li-tigon finally replied in a very slow, measured tone. He ignored the temptation to fidget and simply took a gradual step backward for no apparent reason at all. "I tried…"

But the lioness just shook her head exhaustedly. "You didn't save me," she repeated, and this time, Freak really felt her words.

"Sikia… I am so, so sorry… I tried, I swear…" To attempt to look into the lioness's eyes, Freak ducked somewhat and looked up. But Sikia would not look at him.

"You didn't save me," she said again. "You… _didn't… save… me…_" Now, there was a heavy tone of malice imminent in the lioness's voice. She hissed, loudly, and the step Freak took back in response was quite intentional and quite purposeful.

"Sikia, I did my best. …Come," the li-tigon said, in an attempt to change subjects, "I have important work that has to be done… come with me; you can help. After all, you beat the dogs all by yourse—…"

She finally looked at him—but the eyes that Freak looked into were nothing like those that he had known. And, as a side note, Sikia's mouth seemed to have transformed, becoming reptilian in appearance—she now looked like an odd cross between a lion and a dragon; scales covered the lower half of her muzzle and led up to a mouth full of triangular, serrated teeth.

Ash spilled from in between the armored sections of the lioness's outer organ. She continued to transform in plain view—scales continued to replace fur, so that the once-proud, thick gold tufts of hair fell to the ground. At the same time, Sikia's paws changed, becoming boney and lithe, while her digits extended and her claws grew into talons not dissimilar from Kifo's.

"You didn't save me."

Now, Freak was walking backward rather than taking one step at a time. Sikia was not growing, but her felt presence in the area was—and although Freak wasn't tired, the fight he'd just been through had taken something out of him.

"Sikia—"

"_You didn't save me!_"

Freak had time to duck, and not much else. With a shriek loud enough to hurt the li-tigon's ears, Sikia launched herself at him. In doing so, she opened her mouth wider than was normally possible in an apparent attempt to bite Freak—but she had gained a weapon that he had not anticipated.

Although Sikia's appearance was somewhat draconic, she did not breathe fire. What she was capable of was something nearly as deadly, however—when the lioness breathed in, she sucked away not only air but heat. Just a glancing blow from this heat-vacuum made the moisture in Freak's nose freeze, numbing his sense of smell and bringing a dull, grinding pain to his head.

There was no time to deal with the injury, though—before landing, Sikia turned around so that not a heartbeat passed before she was lunging at Freak again. In moments, the li-tigon was fighting a rapidly losing battle, dodging and ducking and diving to avoid being torn apart by the monster that Sikia had become. Over and over and over she screamed at him that he had not saved her, and it seemed that with each passing second, she grew stronger and he grew colder, weaker, slower, and less capable of defending himself.

Freak took a claw to the shoulder—it a gash about two inches deep and nearly as broad—and that's all it took for him to launch the only counter he could think of.

Suddenly, the li-tigon planted his feet and stopped retreating. He leaped forward and feinted—and then spun out of the way of another vicious claw before inverting his paw and shoving it right down Sikia's throat. That effectively prevented the lioness from sucking the life out of Freak—although she could still bite and claw very effectively. For that reason, the li-tigon didn't give himself time to hesitate: he extended his claws and pulled his paw a short distance in a miniscule amount of time.

Sikia gagged, first, and then choked on the amount of blood that suddenly spilled into her lungs. She tried to swallow but Freak grabbed the soft flap of flesh in the lioness's throat and viciously ripped it off, using his other paw to apply continuous pressure to her neck from the outside, preventing both air and blood from reaching her brain.

In less than a second, the momentum of the fight had been changed. In less than two seconds, Freak had won, staring into the eyes of his enemy until life left them.

Panting, the li-tigon took his paws off of and out of the lioness. As he did so, she shriveled up, in a way, so that before Freak could look away she was no longer a demon—she was Sikia, again, a normal, tan-furred lioness with a somewhat diminutive frame.

And, again, she was dead.

Still, Freak could hear her voice echoing within the enclosure of his mind: you didn't save me, you didn't save me, over and over and over until he could hear nothing else.

For a moment, the li-tigon simply sat still with his eyes shut. Eventually, the voice died down, although the truth of the statement and the sadness caused by it did not and would not. As always, though, Freak ignored his emotions and paused only to close Sikia's eyes—that was all he could do for her before he left her again.

* * *

Freak didn't usually take long to leave emotional baggage behind. His life had taught him precisely how to do it—he'd had plenty of practice, he noted, from when he'd left the Pride Landers to when he'd left the Desert Pride to when he'd left Raj and Nasher and an entire subcontinent.

For that reason, he was prepared to act not ten seconds after leaving Sikia's cold, dead body behind him.

It was fortunate, although Freak's next obstacle was not one that required anything but simple instinct to pass. With so much on his mind, it was somewhat nice to simply let go and watch as his body acted for him as it transverse a series of increasingly wide gaps in the ground, jumping from dynamic pieces of earth to static landings without a moment's pause. In many ways, Freak truly was amazing—and that thought brought the slightest glimmer of hope to him, despite the darkness of the Cave.

The li-tigon was on a sort of earthen conveyor belt when he finally felt secure enough to allow his conscious mind control his actions directly. With his paws planted, he was ready to take a blow or move in a single direction with explosive power at any time—and that was lucky, because, all at once, he began to speed up.

Barely, Freak managed to drop his body and cling to the moving soil beneath him. His claws would do him no good, but drag force worked against him, so the li-tigon got as low to the ground as he possibly could and stayed like that.

After traveling over a series of hills and rapid swerves—some of which nearly threw Freak off into locations and depths unknowable—the moving platform raced toward a rock wall approximately thirty feet tall.

There was no way that Freak could duck under it. And he was moving so fast that it took real effort to keeps his lips shut over his teeth—if he hit the wall now, he'd be pulverized.

He was meant to jump over it.

Freak's prowess was already at the far fringe of what a living big cat could be capable of. In some ways, he was supernatural—but a feat like this… it might stretch his abilities to the breaking point. It was too bad that there was no other choice: he was meant to have no other choice.

At the last possible moment, Freak stood up and tensed the powerful bunches of muscle lining his legs. He continued to race forward—and then, a second later, he jumped.

Grace was something that came naturally to him, and for that reason, relatively little power was dissipated by the air via friction. Freak rose into the air with his paws folded beneath the wild, orangeish locks of his mane, using his tail to keep him balanced and on course.

Before he was halfway to the peak of his jump, Freak saw that he would not clear the wall.

Not completely, anyway—but he could salvage things if he was lucky.

A heartbeat before he struck the wall, Freak outstretched all of his limbs and held them out before him to dissipate the pressure of the normal force the stone wall exerted against him. He was winded but not killed—and that gave him a chance to scramble up and over the wall.

He couldn't get a paw over, and, for a wild moment, Freak was certain that he was going to fall—but then, a single extended claw caught hold of a slight crevice in the top of the stone prism. Although liquid fire shot from the end of Freak's digit all throughout his paw, the li-tigon ignored the pain and used that lone claw to haul himself upward while he still had some momentum left.

All things considered, when Freak actually cleared the wall, he did so with some semblance of the grace that had defined his initial leap.

What came next, though, had the li-tigon flailiag in midair. He sent himself into a useless spiral in the process, but he could not slow his descent—much less avert it entirely.

The fall awaiting Freak was far, far worse than what he'd experienced in his welcome to Hindustan. The rock was not sedimentary and therefore somewhat weak—the solid formations awaiting the li-tigon's helpless body were metamorphosed in the pits of Hell itself. The molecular structures themselves were optimized for strength, not the ability to create sharp, cutting edges—this was no blessing, however. If Freak wasn't thoroughly pulverized by the first two hundred yards of irreconcilable rock, then he'd be cut apart by the field of smashed glass and ceramic farther down.

For a moment, the li-tigon considered what to do to best protect himself—then, he simply went limp and allowed the Nightmare Cave to do to him what it would.

* * *

The tactic was somewhat wise. If Freak had tensed up any of his muscles, his injuries would have been a lot worse than they already were. Now, however, his body could crumple as needed to avoid any concentrations of pressure—that way, damage was spread out rather than concentrated. He was something of a grotesque ragdoll as he bounced down the sheer cliff, failing to decrease in speed to any significant degree.

After a few seconds of respite, the li-tigon hit the next obstacle with a bone-jarring _crunch_. Now, he was sliding without much turbulence, tearing off half of his flesh against the jagged surface his weight pressed him against. The pain was incredible—in moments, there was nothing protecting Freak's ribs from being scraped by the crystalline shards and his tail was only clinging to his backside by a few weakening threads of flesh.

Blood loss alone would kill the li-tigon in minutes—contusions and internal bleeding aside. He could no longer ignore the pain—but he had adapted to it, terribly, so that he didn't even notice when he fell off the savage minefield and into open air.

He noticed when he hit the ground, though—because when he did he was broken apart.

His weakened ribs couldn't take the trauma and collapsed, forcing a liter of squashed innards spraying from the li-tigon's chest. The strong bones in his fore and hindlegs remained intact, but whiplash dislocated several of his digits and broke several others. Freak's tail had fallen free at the last second—it landed next to his head a few seconds later with a wet _thunk_ and then lay flat across his muzzle.

Weakened and doubtlessly heartbeats from death, Freak looked up with his eyes glazed over but open. He would have liked to see the Sun—or perhaps the face of one he loved—but this was apparently his fate. He was going to rot where he lay and no one would ever see his body. And it was likely that if anyone had the time to think about him before they died, they'd curse him for failing in his mission.

It was in Freak's character to simply lay there and wait for death, since his fate, it seemed, was inevitable. But something in him balked at that suddenly, unwontedly—and so, the li-tigon struggled, forcing several components of his body beyond the limit in the process. The sheer injustice of the situation was maddening: there was nothing Freak could do to improve things and there was nothing he could have done to improve things. He was pigeonholed into the situation; his actions and decisions had had no bearing on the outcome whatsoever.

He was hyperventilating, now; blood attempted to course through his veins but simply leaked out into the soil all around him instead. Freak had almost nothing left—and so he expended the last ounces of energy left within his body on a roar that was more similar to a scream than anything else. It didn't continue for more than a few seconds, but in that time, the li-tigon ruined his vocal chords while the few tablespoons of blood left in his system sprayed from his maw.

Anger as pure and black as the surrounding darkness had risen in Freak and did not leave even as the li-tigon's time alive wore thinner and thinner and thinner and thinner. This would be his last emotion, it seemed—outrage so complete and shapeless that it overwhelmed his mind.

It was so complete that Freak lost all conception of time and space—at least, that's what he thought until he realized, an immeasurable amount of time later, that he was still alive. And not just that—he was intact and he could move; without difficulty the li-tigon stood up and looked himself over. He was completely uninjured, and the bloody and dismembered body parts that had landed and spilled next to him had somehow reattached themselves.

Freak tried to think through what had just happened for a moment—then, he gave up and began to walk forward again. Many things in life didn't make sense to him, so, it could be expected that nothing in the Nightmare Cave did. All he could do was move forward until he really was dead.

* * *

Deep breathing, Freak had learned, was something whose cause couldn't be immediately judged. Its significance or lack thereof was largely decided by context—it could mean, among other things, that someone had just returned from a hunt, that they had narrowly escaped death, or that they were (CENSORED TO MAINTAIN T RATING).

Who knew what it meant in the strange, dank depths of the Nightmare Cave?

Freak certainly didn't—not with any specificity, anyway. The distant, labored breaths had to have a source, which meant that there was someone else waiting for him.

Rather than blindly speculate about who or what might be ahead, Freak simply walked forward and concentrated on the simple things: he kept breathing, kept his heartrate slightly elevated, paid close attention to his sensory input, and, most importantly, he kept his mind clear. He didn't want to be distracted by thoughts in case he was surprised.

The tunnel through which he was now traveling was twisting, so that although Freak's eyes had somewhat adjusted to the pitch black he couldn't see beyond perhaps thirty or so yards. He couldn't tell how far away the ominous, rhythmic breathing was—but he didn't let it get to him. He'd deal with whatever was coming when it came.

Ten minutes later, Freak had rounded another bend—then, he suddenly saw who he had been focused on for the past hour or so. It wasn't someone he expected to see, in a condition that he did not believe was possible in the Nightmare Cave.

He was tied up in a mildly unpleasant manner. A thick noose lay around his neck and his arms and ankles were bound—and the only thing preventing him from falling and breaking his neck was a thin plank of wood protruding from the cave's wall _barely_ high enough for him to balance on with the tips of his toes. He was shirtless and sweating heavily—he'd been there for some time, apparently.

"Raj…?"

The boy's eyes rolled around within their sockets, but he couldn't look far enough to the side to see Freak. His position was so precarious that he could not open his mouth more than a fraction of an inch without losing balance—so he replied in a low, gurgling, nearly incomprehensible tone.

"Scar… if that's you, I'm begging you—help me. I don't know—" he paused and continued a moment later at a much more measured pace, "how much… longer I can stand…"

Freak considered leaving Raj and moving on. He also considered giving the boy's knee a thwack with his paw, just to hurry thing along—but then he realized that he was simply doing useless thought experiments. He couldn't leave Raj, even if in attempting to save him Freak created an enemy too powerful to easily defeat.

The cave walls were not structurally sound, so Freak could not jump into one and kick off in order to enter the air rapidly. He could, however, run to the side of the cave and dig his paws into things and climb straight up—and this was the tactic he used to get high enough to cut Raj's noose free a second before the boy's strength failed.

Raj nearly fell to the ground, painfully, but Freak made a clean job of things and managed to neatly catch the boy before setting him down on his back. After that, the ties that bound Raj's hands and feet were easily dispatched, though Freak let Raj get the rope off of his neck by himself. Although the two of them were the best of friends, Raj was still a human—three inch long claws built for killing being put to use centimeters from his jugular was a cause for concern.

After squirming out of the tattered cords on his appendages, Raj pulled the heavier section of rope off his neck as if it was some disgusting serpent. Then, he stood up, patted himself over—and then, finally, wrapped his arms around Freak.

"You have no idea," the boy hyperventilated, "how close that was. Without you, brother, I'd be dead now—thank you, thank you, thank you, _thank you_."

Freak heard Raj's words, to be sure—he even sort of patted the boy on the back with a heavy paw. But he made quite certain that the Raj he knew wasn't falling away so that a demon could rise in his place then and there. He hadn't even completely retracted his claws.

But Raj didn't turn on Freak, and no sudden calamity happened—and so the li-tigon slowly allowed himself to consider the panting, sweating human an ally rather than a threat. As Freak watched, Raj stooped over and picked up a G3 sniper variant as well as a weapons rig that included magazines and a holstered Beretta. After charging his rifle, the boy was nearly as deadly in combat as Freak—he could even see relatively well, thanks to the flashlight attached to the forend of his weapon.

"I… died, yes? I remember pulling the detonator… after that, I… can't remember anything. All I can remember was waking up in that terrible position." Raj spoke while checking the far end of the tunnel, opposite the path Freak had taken to get to him. Nothing seemed to be there, so the human knelt and tried to catch his breath. It was hard, particularly since ever gulp of oxygen was so nauseating he wanted to vomit. "So—where are we, Scar? Is this some kind of dream?"

Freak thought, for a moment—then he shook his head and began to head forward again at a brisk jog. Raj got the message and followed, and although the boy's presence was comforting, nothing could change the facts: "This is a Nightmare."

* * *

Raj accepted what Freak told him with stunning ease. He was literally experiencing life after death—perhaps that had something to do with how easily he threw away other worldviews. A lolcat might have considered telling the human other things, just mess with the human's mind, but Freak had never been the joking type—and besides, they were both up to very serious business.

The company was nice—but having long-range offensive and defensive capabilities was nicer yet. Raj could easily use his rifle to drop any reasonable threat at five hundred yards or more—long before claws or teeth made an ounce of difference.

Time was presumably of the essence, so the pace the Warrior King and Raj kept was quick. Their surroundings did not change for a spell of time—and then, all at once, they were in a practical other world.

The Nightmare Cave opened up into a large grotto covered in massive igneous shards. The landscape was not dissimilar to the Rocklands of the far south, but there was, of course, less light—missing a step was therefore that much more easy to do and several times more dangerous. The tunnel seemed to continue, about five miles off… for now, though, it was slow going.

At least there was nothing there to attack them.

Freak was allowed the relatively luxury of holding that thought as true for two minutes—and then, a burst of machinegun fire put a sudden end to the eventless jog.

It was difficult to say who the bullets were aimed for, but they missed, slicing directly through the air in between Freak and Raj. Without a swearword or extra movement, they both dropped down and got under cover—that was relatively easy thanks to the environment, but now, more gunners were beginning to pour fire on their position.

Over the supersonic roars of passing lead, it was difficult to hear anything—but Raj got close enough to the li-tigon to speak normally.

"There are at least five of them," the boy said. "I don't know exact locations, but they're cutting us off. We can get around this—"

There was an explosion, then, some fifty yards away from the two. Someone had fired a 40mm grenade or similar device, causing a rapid shudder to resonant through the cave for a heartbeat—then, the smoke cleared and the gunfire continued.

Raj glanced through a hole in the rock formation next to his head, then winced. After gritting his teeth, he pulled Freak in close and spoke with his eyes tightly shut.

"It's Shah," the boy explained. "I don't know how, but I can see him. He's there, with the rest of his gang and some others. I think they have nightvision…" The conversation was cut short as the two mutually and nonverbally decided that it was time to move.

Freak went first, pressing forward, of course, by leading Raj through a few shattered structures of the black compound until they were some twenty yards from their original location. There was, of course, no way to be certain of where the most bullets were flying, but there was no harm, certainly, in having a dynamic position.

"You'll have to go first," Raj murmured. "Stay low and move quickly—I'll go for kill shots; I don't have so much ammunition. I'll get the ones at the 1:30 of where we were facing first—get ready to run."

Freak already had a secondary plan in mind, to help the boy escape as well. It would not be easy, but if Shah's thugs were well armed, and they usually were, then the li-tigon would be able to launch an unexpected counter-offensive—hopefully. For the moment, however, he was simply lying in wait and slowly moving into a position that would give him the most options—Raj was going to start shooting at any moment.

It was easy to hear when the boy began to fight back. Freak was close to him, so when the harsh, staggered coughs of his rifle began to crack out across the landscape, the li-tigon knew immediately. And so he began to move with all haste, at least for eighty yards—then, he ducked behind cover again, sliding into a depression in the ground with his paws over his head to see if anyone was tracking him.

No bullets seemed to follow the li-tigon, however—the air just above him was clear. He waited for about two seconds to catch his breath and confuse anyone that might have caught a glimpse of him—and then he began to move again.

The harsh terrain was rough on his paws. Every step opened a small but painful injury on Freak's paws, owing to how fast he was moving, but he didn't notice.

Raj was expecting Freak to simply move straight forward to where the tunnel continued, and, for some time, the li-tigon did just that. But he had carefully memorized the position of one shooter in particular—when Raj had started to fight back, that had been his first target. The boy's aim was true and so the distant gunman was probably dead or at least seriously injured—but Freak didn't take any chances.

He moved in such a way that he was hidden from view and therefore gunfire from at least that gunner. Of course, Freak could have been more careful and crawled through the jagged crevices scarring the rocky ground, but Raj would not be able to hold out forever. Sooner or later, one of Shah's thugs would get lucky.

Freak finally broke free of the jumble of broken rocks into a similarly desolate but less dangerous landscape. After planting his paws, the li-tigon turned and began to traverse along the outer edge of the formation—he moved quickly but kept low, prepared to dive into cover at any moment. Soon, he knew, Raj's first target would appear pressed against some outcropping with his rifle in his hand—and if he was still alive, then Freak would have to take him down alone.

Luck was on his side, though—the gunner was more or less in the position Freak had anticipated, but a fist-sized exit wound in the back of his head told the li-tigon that Raj's aim had been true. Once Freak saw that he broke into a sprint and pulled the dead man's body away from the rock with a paw, ever ready to jump away in case he was holding the det-cord to a suicide bomb.

The man slumped over without ill effect, though—and after waiting for a few seconds to ensure that things were safe, Freak moved in again and tore apart his vest and gear. By then, it had become startlingly clear that he and Raj had grossly underestimated what they were up against—in the distance, _dozens_ more gunners or perhaps armed robots were beginning to come into play. Hundreds of rounds were being fired every minute, so if Raj wasn't continually moving or behind some particularly tough bit of cover, he was probably already mincemeat.

But if he wasn't, then he needed help—and bad.

The li-tigon had learned from what few—okay, not so few—mistakes he'd made in his life. Very early in his life, he'd learned that unnecessary violence wasn't a good way to do business after getting a face full of venom when he'd needlessly killed a centipede.

When he had been in Hindustan, this lesson had been expanded when he had taken out some angry on an inanimate object—what he'd thought was a rock.

Now, Freak knew how to launch a grenade far while arming it. Hopefully, his man had some of the handheld explosives on him—and, hopefully, he was accurate enough to do some damage. For the moment, however, the li-tigon was uselessly mutilating the dead man's possessions—but he couldn't slow down, not even for safety's sake. Raj couldn't wait.

In the only compartment remaining in the man's pack, Freak found what he was looking for. Two fragmentation grenades now lay in his paws—and a quick check ensured that the pins were fully intact. It was just in time, too, because it seemed that at least some of Shah's finest were moving forward—and if Raj wasn't killed in a direct advance, he'd be surrounded. At that point, Freak would be forced to move on alone; it would be too time-consuming and risky to give the boy any help.

Freak breathed in, once, and then let the first grenade fly. A moment later, he repeated the action so that two gleaming metal rings remained around his index claw. The deadly projectiles had long since vanished into the hazy, smoke-filled air—Freak couldn't track them. He could only hope that he'd been on target.

The two distant thuds Freak had been expecting came some seconds later, one after the other. The outgoing fire slacked but the offensive was not broken—so now, Freak had a decision to make. He could either go on, assuming that Raj would be able to fight his way out and eventually follow, or he could offer the boy direct assistance.

When Shah's thugs began to retaliate with launched grenades of their own, Freak knew that there was no way Raj was getting out alone. He hesitated no longer before diving back into the jumble of rock and moving as fast as he possibly could.

The li-tigon's ears told him that the biggest concentration of enemy forces wasn't far, but two individual fighters had broken from the group and moved to set up pintle-mounted machineguns on Raj's flanks to completely cut the lone fighter off. They had to be stopped—so Freak covertly took them out, one by one, by jumping out of cover and dragging them off before the alarm could be raised. He killed somewhat messily but there was no helping it. No time could be wasted.

Most of Shah's thugs were close to one another—and that wasn't good for the way Freak fought. He couldn't possibly move fast enough to take all of the armed men out before any got off a shot or two, and these weren't just ragtag criminals. Many of them had trained in their art for years and the rest had been recruited due to their promise and talent—Freak would have to be creative to win this one.

An idea occurred to him as he closed in on his enemies. It would be next to impossible to pull off perfectly, thanks to the terrain—but Freak had no choice. He had to have the element of surprise to prevail.

The manner in which the rocks reflected sound was what made the trick Freak had planned so difficult to pull off. There was a reason he implemented it so rarely—and, no, it wasn't because the Lion Sheikh has largely forgot about the strange talent. Ventriloquism was not easy to do properly in the best of times, and now, Freak was breathing hard and in an incomprehensible jumble of solid rock.

If he messed up, he would do nothing more than alert the gunmen to his approach.

Freak had never projected such a loud noise before, but he tried regardless. The li-tigon roared—not for very long, but loudly—and projected his voice several feet on the opposite side of the collection of thugs.

Immediately, the gunfire stopped—and Freak could only hope that his ruse had worked.

He dived out of cover a second later, scaling a ten foot high wall to attack as rapidly as possible. As the li-tigon's head broke out of cover, he saw twenty or so heads facing away from him and knew that he had a chance. Freak kicked off of the rock, hard, and launched himself into what rapidly became a very bloody fray. He killed the first man before he was even noticed—and was halfway through taking the heads off two more targets before they began to realize something was wrong.

Freak didn't need to try to attack precisely to ensure that his blows landed exactly where they were able to. With his claws extended, he drew blurred lines through the air, gouging deep gashes through flesh and bone alike. The second two men the li-tigon attacked went down with broken jaws and concussions, though what ended up killing them was blood loss from the wounds on their necks.

Their bodies hit the ground before Freak's did.

He couldn't kill the next one in his path, not without getting away from the concentration of men to his side. For now, Freak simply lowered his head and ran through the man's comparatively fragile legs, splintering them without effort.

The screaming began, then, but time had slowed down and Freak didn't really have the time to regard them. After turning, rapidly, he jumped not so high but long—on a course that would launch him over the heads of three men that were only heartbeats from getting their rifles into play. Freak went aerial and stayed that way long enough to take out his targets from above—the first two were clean kills, but the li-tigon had somewhat underestimated his own strength. His claws ended up entering the last man's eye sockets and staying there just long enough to mess up his landing.

That was a mistake and a loss of time, agility, and momentum. Freak could afford none of these things.

By now, bullets were beginning to fly through the air—most shots were fired by those farthest from the li-tigon, and he'd counted on that. However, by moving fast and staying within the crowd of humans, he avoided injury and boosted the rate of killing. Many of Shah's gangsters were killed by friendly fire—none of them had been trained to stare down a big cat at close range. With Freak so close by, most of them panicked and spray-fired their weapons uselessly.

Chests exploded in bloody splashes as Freak ducked through the hail of bullets. Bodies all around him were torn apart by a combination of assault rifle fire and the reports of one or two idiots with autoloading shotguns—only occasionally did the li-tigon have to reach up and tear out a throat to eliminate all enemy activity on that flank of the group.

What Freak had to do next, however, was completely different. First, he had to reach the men on the other side—many of which were still firing in panic, though some had started to wise up and break to engage—and then he had to take them out without getting shot in the face.

He had a plan for that, though. Freak noticed that no one had reloaded yet—they were using extended magazines—and that would complicate things, but not make the odds against him insurmountable.

The li-tigon was in a sea of falling bodies. He grabbed one of the dead men nearest to him with his jaws and sidestepped before putting the full weight of his upper body into throwing the lifeless body into its comrades.

The result, of course, was a domino effect that shortly sent not one but perhaps five freshly-massacred corpses tumbling forward at the phalanx of living men. Freak wasn't invincible, though—he took a shot to the thigh while executing the maneuver, but he shook it off. The confusion and minimal damage caused to the formation of gunners wouldn't last for long—he had to press his advantage while he had it.

Instead of rushing at his enemies head on in a manner that might allow a lucky shot to reach him, Freak moved to the side and then dashed forward, in a sort of one-man pincer maneuver. Additional shots rushed by him, tumbling and swerving in unexpected manners due to having traveled through bodies already—but Freak was left unharmed and able to plough through the entire group of humans in one move.

He only had a few seconds to finish them off before backup arrived, but Freak got lucky. One man's grenade became visible, so all Freak had to do was pull the pin and destabilize the handle—and then get the Hell outta Dodge.

With a satisfied grimace, Freak preemptively flattened his ears to protect his hearing. A second after he was out of the picture, the grenade went off, spraying the surrounding area with bits of shrapnel. The men that weren't shredded immediately took only a few more screaming, bloody seconds to die—Freak had broken the back of Shah's offensive.

The rest of the attack group was still firing, and Freak knew that it wouldn't be long before some were sent out to see what had happened. He couldn't take them—they would be prepared for a close-in attack, and in that case, the terrain would work heavily against him. So, while he could, the li-tigon got out of the way and hid in the rocks again, just to see what was going on.

Raj's position was difficult to determine, but, to be sure, the boy was alive. Freak could tell—Shah's gangsters were firing too much and too rapidly to not be taking any fire themselves. Now, however, there was very little Freak could do—he couldn't attack again, at least not for a few minutes. Perhaps he'd take the chance if he became aware of any high-value targets, but as far as he could tell, there weren't any. Shah was among the legions of the hooded warriors, concealing his identity and barking out orders via microphone.

Freak was most useful laying in wait, at least for the moment. When the opportunity showed itself he'd strike—but until then, he had no reason to put himself in danger. Raj could hold out.

He stayed still for perhaps fifty seconds. Then, however, Freak realized—he wasn't supposed to stay and fight. This obstacle was not one that he could get through with simple force: Shah's forces had been replenished somehow; more fighters had arrived as if from thin air.

Freak had done some truly terrible things to live, but he could not immediately recall abandoning friends in immediate danger. It was, in a way, dishonorable—but Raj had told him to leave. And war of this scale and nature was all about sacrificing some lives for more.

Raj would have done the same thing Freak did next—he would have run, fast, at first, in order to avoid second-guessing himself. He would have sprinted until he was nearly exhausted and too far away to return, and he would have done so in such a way that Shah's forces were alerted and set up in case he returned.

Raj, perhaps, would not have turned and looked back despite all that. Raj hadn't been through so much in the Nightmare Cave already.

* * *

The one condolence Freak had was that he was reaching the end of the Cave—at least, that's what it felt like. He wasn't sure that he could take much more—in fact, he was quite sure that he couldn't take much more. How he'd managed to get so far was difficult to say, but it probably had something to do with how easily he could ignore his feelings. He'd practiced that for a lifetime.

But things were starting to take their toll. Consequences had never been the same: Freak was overwhelmed with lethargy and the will to do nothing more than roll over and die. His eyes didn't focus unless he concentrated and he walked like a zombie, dragging his paws across the muddy ground. There was no purpose in what he was doing—he had been too slow for certain, he'd spent hours in the Nightmare Cave. By now, everyone and everything was dead, broken, razed from the face of the Earth so permanently that no one would ever remember them. Everything Freak had known was at an end, surely.

But there was a possibility so remote and fleeting that Freak didn't think about it for long. He just kept walking, somehow, although no excuse he gave himself took him far. He wasn't going on in order to amuse himself and see if he could win, and he certainly wasn't going on because he wanted to get revenge. Freak was fairly certainly that he would die within moments of seeing the Master of darkness—if he even made it that far.

There was one obstacle left. And the test it posed would shake Freak to his core.

There was an opening up ahead, far larger than the chamber in which Freak had fought the dogs. Its size could be compared to the landscape not so far behind him where the two brothers would spend an eternity struggling against one another for his sake, but this chamber had a far higher ceiling.

Freak entered and immediately felt concern. Adrenaline entered his system and made him perk up, filling his body with energy that was not his to keep. There was lighting, but it wasn't complete—Freak couldn't see the edges of the cavern or what lay waiting there for him. With a growing sense of unrest, however, he moved forward.

His nose twitched—and told him something that he hesitated to believe for only a moment.

Freak trembled a little bit—but he swallowed his fear down and moved forward one step at a time. The farther into the opening he got, the more sure he was of what was coming.

She came into view not suddenly, but before Freak was ready for it. What struck the li-tigon most was not her size—but who she was.

"Mother."

Chukizo was normally proportioned but scaled up many times. As Freak stood and looked up at her, he realized that in comparison to her, he was no larger than a cub—and then he realized that he was to do his first battle again.

She was hurt, he realized—badly hurt and bleeding, and scrawny from malnutrition. She did not look like she did when Freak had seen her in his dreams—this was how she had been when she had given birth to himself and his sister. It hurt Freak to look at her—she was in great pain and on death's door, and he knew that he would have to be the one to push her over the edge.

But she was still his mother.

Chukizo took in a few ragged, harsh breaths before she could summon the energy to look around to see who had addressed her. She saw Freak and froze—and then, after a moment, smiled a quiet, sad smile.

"My son." It wasn't a question, not really—it would be more accurate to say that Chukizo wanted badly to believe that the incredible being before her was her own but wasn't entirely certain. Freak nodded, though, and, immediately, the tigoness beamed down at him.

"I knew… that you would become like this. You're so big and strong," Chukizo said. Her voice quavered—and it wasn't just because she was losing energy rapidly. She was proud of him, inexpressibly so—she reached out to touch her son but her body failed and she fell. Freak moved instinctively to catch her, but only managed to reduce some of the jolt that her elbow underwent by taking the blow to his own body.

"C-clumsy…" Chukizo let out a rattling breath and then laughed, for a moment, before simply taking a few seconds to rest. She blinked so slowly that for a wild moment Freak thought that she'd left him, just like that—but then she opened her eyes and searched for him until she found him again.

"Come here, my son… let me hold you. I'm finished… all I want is to hold you for one moment. Please…"

Freak was tempted to refuse. Being so cold might harden him enough to do what he was certain he had to do—but he couldn't say no to his own mother. Not when her request was so simple. He would do as she said, for now… but he had to get going. Time was running out for those who still lived.

So, reluctantly, Freak took a few steps forward. When he was close enough to feel his dying mother's body heat, he felt something in him change—for the first time in his life, he truly felt that he was someone's son.

Of course, he'd come close to that before. When he was younger, and his parents had met him for the first time, he'd had an inkling of what he felt then, in the most unlikely of places. Now, though, the li-tigon's feelings were incomparable to anything he'd ever before experienced—for the first time, he felt like he belonged somewhere.

Freak sat down, fully, next to his mother's shoulder. She lifted a paw, then, trembling, and used it to hold him close—it would have been nearly uncomfortably tight, but the tigoness was very weak. Freak could feel it from the way her heart beat—irregularly and softly—she was so close to him that he didn't have to try to hear it. It was as if he was attuned to her, or perhaps made to understand her.

Freak realized that he loved his mother, and he always had. He had just never had the opportunity to show it.

And now that he did, he didn't have the time to do it for long.

Freak was disciplined, though. He only let a few seconds pass before standing, partially, and looking around for the exit to that part of the Nightmare Cave—but there was none. Even the tunnel that had brought him into that massive chamber had been sealed off; Freak couldn't even tell where it had been. He had to move on, somehow—he couldn't stay with his mother indefinitely.

"Son… are you in a hurry?" She was perceptive, it seemed, for being rather past the point of no return. Chukizo had accepted her death—but she hadn't yet experienced it. That would come at any moment. So, instead of getting up and leaving, Freak paused—and then answered his mother with a nod.

"There are many of my family and friends in danger," the li-tigon said. "Everything I know is in danger… Mother, I _have_ to leave."

She nodded, sadly, but understandingly. Before Freak could move, though, the tigoness stopped him.

"Wait, wait… just for a few minutes." She coughed, raspily, before speaking again in a coherent manner some seconds later. "This is the only time we'll ever be able to do this, my son. Please… don't leave me. Not yet…" She was practically begging him—and, so, Freak didn't leave. Not yet, anyway. He shut his eyes and allowed his mother to affectionately rub the smooth bluntness of her face against him—he had never experienced that before, either.

"Tell me, my son," Chukizo murmured some time later—just as Freak saw that there was certainly no way out of this, the final chamber—"do I have any grandchildren?..."

Freak shook his head. He wanted to say more but he couldn't elaborate—he couldn't explain why. He had no excuse, either. He was no longer a late juvenile, he was a full-grown adult. There were so many things that he'd like to have done with his life by now, but things had just kept coming up, one after the other, for the past several years.

She seemed to have seen the guilt and sadness in her son's eyes. But she didn't let it get to her—at least in her last moments, she could be hopeful.

"Then… _will_ I?" Chukizo smiled down at her son and felt him look back up at her as he absorbed her words. He didn't answer immediately, of course—but moments later, he nodded. She couldn't see it but she felt it in some intangible yet undeniable way.

Pressed against the deep tan of his mother, Freak was in comparison vividly colored. His fur was decidedly less sleek, he noted, but it was clear that he had inherited the telltale strip pattern that lined his form from her. Other aspects—the angle of his snout, for example, and the color of his eyes—were also clearly hers. He couldn't allow such beauty to end with him—so, he promised himself that someday soon he'd find a way to ensure that his bloodline did not die.

She began to speak to him again, but this time, there were no questions. Freak listened to his mother tell him about her own life—every bit as lonely and brutal as his if not more. The respite in her solitude and darkness had not come until she was somewhat older than he was now—when Scar took her out of the permanent darkness that was existence.

The closer Freak got to simply leaving, the more Chukizo continued to speak and the more desperate and emotional her stories got. Freak _had_ to leave—but he couldn't without seriously hurting his mother and forever losing the chance to be with her in the physical sense. And then there was the fact that the cave itself had no obvious exit.

The sheer insanity of the situation started to get to Freak. He had to go but he couldn't and he had to stay but he couldn't. All the while, time was ticking down, and down, and down—anything he managed to do was surely becoming more and more uselessly. How many of his friends remained alive was a function of many things, but time was a major factor. There would soon come a point where not even one Pride Lander would remain alive—Freak had to finish things before then to make everything he'd done so far in the Nightmare Cave—and his life as a whole—meaningful.

Chukizo had now begun a long diatribe about the first time she'd taken down a gazelle on her own. It hadn't been easy, but hunger and successive failure had motivated her to be creative and rely on her paternal half to tell her how to provide for herself.

Freak had little sympathy for that. He'd provided for himself throughout his cubhood with one exception—when his mother had fed him for the first and last time.

"Mother." The word was spoken in a curt, somewhat caustic tone; it was the voice that Freak had employed constantly until he'd spent some time learning under the Dark One.

It made Chukizo's ears flatten to hear it—much less hear it addressed to her. But there was surely a misunderstand of some sort. So, the tigoness smiled and looked down at her son after stroking his precious form with her paw once. "Yes, my son?" she asked—and, for a moment, Freak could not answer.

But he was a being of principle and determination. Petty emotions would not stop him for long,

Freak's intention was to tell his mother that he had to leave immediately. If she then didn't help him get out, then he would do whatever he had to do to go on alone. But then, when the tigoness looked down at her son with nothing but love in her eyes, Freak saw what he had to do. It was terrible, brutal, and almost unimaginable—and it was the final, soul-wrenching test that the Nightmare Cave had to offer him.

Freak looked up at his mother. His mouth was dry and no amount of licking his lips or swallowing would help. He wanted to say something but words failed him—so he did what he had to do before his nerve failed him.

The movement was sudden and completely unexpected—there was no way that Chukizo or anyone else could have seen it coming. But Freak did it—and he did it quickly, powerfully, effectively, with the full brutality and lack of mercy that the action demanded.

He jumped up. And then he cut his own mother's throat wide open.

The gaping wound was centered around Chukizo's jugular. Once the bleeding started, she didn't have a chance.

Too sickly and weak to do anything but gurgle and bring herself into a controlled fall, Chukizo died slowly but without any further violence. She might have realized what had happened—and if she did, she forgave her son too quickly to truly appreciate what had happened. Her final action was to look around, anxiously, to see if she could meet her son's eyes one last time—but before she could succeed, she gasped—and died.

Freak watched the entire event unfold. When it had finished, he looked away—and there was a tunnel leading from the cavity. Freak could look at the exit apparent for only a moment before turning away; it was very bright and the light emanating from it was focused and intense. It was sunlight—all Freak had to do to get out of the Nightmare Cave was to walk just a little farther. Just a few more steps.

He did so, of course, but with his mind carefully monitored. The li-tigon sometimes induced out-of-body experiences to protect his own sanity, but he'd never had to make them last for more than a few seconds.

This time, however, he didn't dare allow himself to re-enter his body for a full ten minutes. He was out of the cave in two and he spent the next eight sobbing.

* * *

(I rly quit writing kthxbai)


	32. Nexus IV: Beyond the Point

The Lion King: The Freak

Chapter 32: Nexus IV: Beyond the Point of No Return

* * *

(How many boards would the Mongols hoard if the Mongol hordes got bored?)

* * *

The silence was as close to absolute as Freak had ever experienced in his life. If silence was temperature and Freak was a length of metal wire, he would have been a resistanceless superconductor—the temperature would have been within femtokelvins of absolute zero. He couldn't hear himself walk, couldn't hear himself breathe, and he was actually not quite certain of whether he was dead or alive. Both possibilities could not be ruled out until further evidence advanced either claim—in a way, Freak was Schrodinger's cat. All that remained was for someone to open the box, but until then, he could be thought of as both dead and alive.

His surroundings were misted. There were trees here and there, but none were close enough to be of any note to whatever shattered splinters of Freak's mind remained. He simply walked forward in a somewhat shaky manner—but, slowly, he reclaimed his form and walked forward proud and tall. What had happened in the Nightmare Cave hadn't happened. It was all in his mind; it was all some sort of complicated illusion involving a collision in the metaphysical forces of the Spirits and their corollary—evil.

Freak was rationalizing and he knew it. But such a way of looking at things could not be dismissed—there was a strong possibility, at least, that what Freak had just experienced—or what he thought he'd just experienced—was all in his head.

He was closing in on the Master of darkness, and his only goal was to find and eliminate him. Everything else that preceded that single event was irrelevant—if Freak defeated his enemy, it wouldn't matter what he'd "done" in the Nightmare Cave.

It was hard to say what made Freak so eerily certain that he would be victorious in his fight. He'd only barely prevailed against Kifo, and he'd been very well prepared for that engagement. After months of training in Hindustan, the entire Land of the Spirits had banded together to support him. But he'd be alone on this one. No one outside of the Forbidden Island would have any idea of what he was up to; even praying for him would have no effect.

He was not going to win. He wasn't even going to live.

These were fair statements, but Freak had turned the odds on their head before. Anyone aware of his birth would have said, fairly, that he was not going to survive for more than two hours. Anyone aware of his existence even moments before that fateful time—when he'd found and followed Kiara and Kovu—would have said that he was doomed to a life f ever increasing paranoia and solitude.

And yet, here he was—the champion of the Land of the Spirits, the Warrior King of the Pride Lands. He had lived and he had pulled himself up to where he was now—so was there really any ceiling to what Freak could do in his life? The answer might be no, but it might also be yes.

There was just this one last thing Freak had to do. After he was finished, anything else he did in his life wouldn't compare to the sheer difficulty and scale of what he was doing now. What did he plan to do—raise cubs, advise Simba, hunt, fight, and generally lounge around? After this fight—if he won—Freak could rest. He could rest without guilt or worry for the rest of his life.

Who knew—maybe he'd even recover from what he was going through. He'd largely believed that what didn't kill him made him stronger, but he saw how this statement was in itself misleading. Not being killed by an event or a group of events _immediately_ did not preclude the possibility of slowly but certainly withering away. Freak knew that it might happen to him again. He'd nearly consumed himself following his exile to Hindustan.

There was an odd sense of finality about his movements now. He'd never felt it before, and for that reason, he walked in an awed sort of way, wondering, rather disinterestedly, what was going to happen next. His paws, broad and powerful, slowly padded across the ground without leaving any traces behind them—it was as if Freak's current life was ending so that another one could begin. The process had happened before, but this time, there was even more of a chance that the new Freak would exist only for a few moments.

Regardless of how the battle ended—it would affect Freak for the rest of his life, however long, or short, it was.

* * *

In a way, it was strange. The Master of darkness had set up so much in his defense—he'd placed a squad of Nomad rebels at the coast of the Forbidden Island to keep intruders out and forced anyone that got through that to struggle through the Nightmare Cave.

Now, however, he wasn't even hiding. Perhaps he couldn't—it somehow felt to Freak that the strange place in which he found himself was one dimensional. Out of curiosity, he turned, a few times, and then started to walk again—but nothing changed. He was still moving directly toward his goal, although how Freak knew that was impossible to say.

In contrast with the black death that was even then consuming the entire Land of the Spirits, Freak's surroundings were white. His eyes were assaulted but he did not blink or flinch—he faced his attackers without fear or any other emotion, for that matter. He couldn't afford to show any weakness, not even to himself. Fear and doubt had not yet started to set in but they would, soon enough, unless Freak carefully monitored his every thought and emotion.

He kept walking for some time. It felt like perhaps five minutes to Freak, but it might have been much longer or perhaps much shorter. Then, however, he came to the end of his journey all at once—the forest broke into a large plain. When Freak entered the monotonous landscape, the more interesting of his surroundings vanished, slowly. He acknowledged this without interest, glancing over his shoulder to confirm it, and then simply stood still, with his tail lashing from one side to the other, waiting. The Master of darkness was in his immediate vicinity—and, at any second, he'd show himself.

Freak shut his eyes for a moment and took a few deep breaths, for all the good that would do him. He had never felt so more doomed in his life and yet he stood his ground without effort—he had been born to do exactly what he was doing. It scarcely mattered whether or not he wanted to be there, or how much he wanted to be elsewhere.

"So… you made it."

Freak wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but it wasn't that. The Master of darkness's voice was, apparently, normal in every way. Well—it was a bit sketchy and grating—but apart from that, there was nothing particularly bizarre about it.

"I'm impressed."

Freak nodded for no reason at all and looked around. He saw movement at his ten o'clock position and locked onto it, unsheathing his claws the slightest amount. He smelled—himself, which was to say that he smelled nothing at all. Freak had grown accustomed to his own scent on the day he was born; his brain simply filtered that information out unless he specifically searched for it. Out of curiosity, though, Freak concentrated for just a moment—and was surprised to note that he smelled himself twice. It was as if there was another one of him—a clone—close by, but that couldn't be so. Kifo had been a metaphorical twin—Freak had no literal twins.

"Are you going to show yourself?" the li-tigon asked. He wasn't being impatient—but he did want to finish things. He'd been waiting for this moment his entire life and he didn't want to wait any longer.

There was no reply, though, so, after a moment, Freak began to walk forward. He wasn't sure why—he just felt a significant desire to. After taking perhaps twenty steps on a surface that couldn't be described or even defined, he came to a pool of water—and, perchance, looked into it.

Of course Freak saw himself. He was looking at a reflective surface—what else would he see?

He looked at himself for a moment. Then another—and then another. He _saw_ himself, and he was saddened but not surprised by what he had become. He was not old, physically, but he felt thin… sort of stretched, like… butter scraped over too much bread—ahem.

It was certainly him, though, and it remained him for some moments. Then, though, Freak's reflection changed—not rapidly, but fast enough for the li-tigon to question exactly how the images in the pool melted from one to the other. He saw many faces: his mother's, his father's, his grandfather's, Kifo's, the Dark One's—and then the reflection changed back to what it had been.

Freak was looking at himself—at least, so it seemed. But he had learned to pay attention to detail, and that's why, after a few seconds, Freak saw that his reflection was imperfect.

Perhaps that was the wrong term—he was the imperfect one, at least in one manner of thinking. The scar on his eye… he lifted his paw up to touch it but the reflection did not do the same. It had no scar—but it was still Freak, wasn't it? It looked the same, completely the same, apart from that and a few other nuances too slight to easily be explained.

But who else could it be?

Clearly, Freak was just looking at an idealized form of himself. Well—idealized for one-on-one engagement, anyway. As he currently stood, Freak was rather bulked up, just to the point where his agility had begun to suffer. Whereas his reflection was lithe and rippling with lean muscle; there wasn't an ounce of fat to buffer blows that were unavoidable in large-scale combat.

If he trained properly, it wouldn't take Freak a month to look like that again. Perhaps he ought to have thought ahead, just a little, and slimmed down for his fight with the Master of darkness—but then, he'd presumed that he'd have to get through at least a few dozen defensive forces to reach the Master himself. He had done the best he could and he was so deep in thought, imagining what he could have been and what he should have been that for a moment he did not realize that his reflection was climbing out of the pool and into the world.

Freak had never considered that such a thing might be possible—it was completely unprecedented, and it seemed strange that such an occurrence was not accompanied with some sort of metaphysical contradiction. Then again, this was the Forbidden Island, where the normal rules of nature didn't apply and those in charge could bend and shape things at will. What Freak was watching was no illusion—but the form the being in front of him had taken certainly was. No one looked like Freak but Freak.

The li-tigon took a few steps back—no more—and stood with his head canted. His reflection was now standing as well, and, after shaking the excess water out of his fur, he, too, looked at the only other being present. He felt no fear. He felt like he was looking at himself, not the most evil being the Land of the Spirits had ever seen.

"Wait."

Freak had been on the very edge of launching a surprise attack, or at least dropping into a fighting stance when the Master of darkness spoke up and held out his bare paws in a display of passivity, at least for the moment. He was not negotiating—Freak knew that much. There had to be some other reason; perhaps it had something to do with the bizarre feeling of déjà vu the li-tigon was experiencing. An impossible thought was starting to take hold in the back of his mind, but he ignored it.

"Do you really not recognize me?... my body, that is." The reflection glanced to the side and then back at Freak, changing his view for safety's sake in a manner that Freak had only ever known himself to do. "Think. You've seen it before… a very long time ago, and not for very long, I suppose. But you have seen it."

"What are you talking about?" Freak snarled, mostly to ignore the hot, churning sensation rapidly rising in his gut. He knew—no, he had absolutely no idea what the Master of darkness was going to say next. He was going to say something terrible, something ridiculous—something completely impossible and if Freak took it seriously for a moment he deserved defeat.

Freak's reflection grinned, but not in the manner that Freak himself ever had. The reflection's expression was malicious, grotesquely so—Freak actually flinched from seeing his face contorted in such a manner. He hissed, however, to cover his own disgust, and began to circle his enemy, just a little bit. There was nothing that the reflection could say then to prevent things from coming to blows _immediately_—or so Freak thought.

Tracking the li-tigon with his eyes alone, Freak's reflection continued to grin, for a moment, before saying the three words that would forever change Freak's life.

"I'm your brother."

* * *

Freak's first hours alive had not been easy. But they could have been a lot harder and they should have been a lot harder—but he had had help in an unexpected way, from an unexpected source. He had stayed in the cave where he had been born for some time; he had been in the protection that his mother's dying body had offered. That might not have mattered, however, because there was one being that had come ever so close to crossing paths with Freak just then—and if it had become aware of the li-tigon's existence, it would have torn Freak out of his cave, the possibility that a fully grown tigoness was there to defend her son be damned.

Taking revenge was not in the tradition of any of the various groups or subcultures that existed in the Jungle. But there are outliers everywhere.

Chukizo had killed one time too many to keep all of her cubs safe. Some weeks before giving birth, she'd made one of her final kills—and her victim had been, of course, a monkey, one of the few creatures that she had still been able to take down. That monkey had had a mate—and that mate had spent his time carefully, figuring out who had killed his beloved, where she lived, and how he ought to kill her.

He had hit something of a brick wall when he had realized that there was no way in Hell that he was going to take down Chukizo. So, he had then settled for harming her before she killed him—and then, as he had laid in wait outside of the tigoness's cave, he had realized that she was with cubs.

He had decided to take one of them.

Of course he knew that he wouldn't live after killing one of Chukizo's cubs, but that wasn't his purpose. His purpose was to take revenge—and so, when he had seen that small, helpless ball of fur roll out of its mother's cave without her notice, he had seen an opportunity and pursued it with vigor and malice—but also silence.

Imagine his shock, then, when that cub—literally fresh from his mother's womb—evaded his grasp and got to his feet.

For a full second, the monkey had stopped in his tracks to wonder what was going on. He had quickly realized that Chukizo, the abomination, had given birth to an unnatural demon of a son whose abilities were summarily unnatural. His face had twisted into a snarl and before the cub could open its mouth to mewl for help, he had raced forward again with murder in his heart.

The engagement was too quick for anyone or any_thing_ to realize that it had happened. The monkey chased Chukizo's first son—Freak's brother—away from his mother's presence before the universe had registered his existence. The area immediately outside of Chukizo's cave remained, then, as it commonly was—peaceful, silent, lonely, lifeless, and, for the tigoness's other son, ideal for the beginning of a life that was anything but ideal.

* * *

Freak had never heard of another being like him. He had never conceived of it, and nothing—_nothing_ during his cubhood that he could remember pointed to the existence of another li-tigon in the Jungle. Perhaps, then, his brother had left the Jungle?... if that had happened, then it made sense that they hadn't come into contact. And yet, Freak recalled that the Jungle was the only place in the Land of the Spirits that he could have survived. The only other habitable landscapes for a lone cub—the Eastern Jungle, or perhaps the Black Hills—were too far to be accessible.

Everywhere else did not have the capacity to support a cub. Killing for milk and meat would not be possible when the only givers thereof dwarfed Freak at the time—and his brother—by both weight and size.

How his brother had survived… it must have been a grim tale. His brother's entire life must have been a grim tale—even in comparison to Freak's.

"My brother."

He had spoken in a tone that was not familiar to him. It was dry and almost silent. Freak didn't hear it—but the Master of darkness did. And he laughed in response.

"You have no idea what kind of trouble I went through to find him—let alone to bring him here. You think you're hard to track down, Warrior King? You can't compare to your brother." The Master of darkness smirked and gave his mane a toss in the precise manner that Freak did. He began to pace—strutting—circling around Freak in a slow, arrogant manner. It was clear that he was in control, because Freak couldn't will himself to move, much less raise a paw in his own defense—not even after the Master of darkness struck him across the face.

Freak had never been hit by someone with his precise paw shape or someone with the sort of claws that he had. He saw, then, that he had a number of natural advantages that let him get to where he was: a place no lion, tiger, or tigon could ever pray to reach. The padding on his paws was perfect for transferring momentum, and his claws were strong and curved to gouge deep slashes into flesh and bone alike when they struck.

Freak did not go flying. But he was forced back with four jagged lines etched into his snout that he knew would take time to heal. He had been stunned by the blow, and when his senses returned to him the Master of darkness was laughing in a harsh, guttural manner.

"I can't believe this. You fought through your cubhood, through the Bloody Shadows, the southern dogs, Hindustan, Kifo, my undead regiment—you fought through _the Nightmare Cave_—but you won't even dodge this?" On the final word he struck again and again Freak did not evade the blatant attack. This time, the li-tigon saw stars—but only felt pain when he hit the ground.

The Master of darkness was still laughing. He was still laughing while Freak got up and opened his mouth to speak.

"This is great," the vicious adversary said. He flexed his claws and grinned, this time allowing his mane to grow unruly so that a shock of fur covered about half of his face. "I'm gonna mop the floor with you, motherfucker, and then I'm going to sit back, relax, and wait for when my victorious troops come home. I think you'll… make a very handsome throne rug." He grinned again, viciously, and sauntered forward.

"But this body—damn," he said. "I think I'll hold onto it for a while I kind of like it—it's fast, and powerful, and there's not too much going on upstairs. I wouldn't say your brother's a retard—but he's pretty close. He can't even speak; can you believe that? I had to get into his head—literally—to communicate with him."

This time, when he was approached, Freak backed away. He did so not rapidly, but in a balanced manner, as if he was prepared to defend himself although he was not. He wanted to talk, to negotiate, but he didn't have the skills to do so—much less with the Master of darkness. There was nothing he could do, now, but fight. He had to fight—he had to kill the Master of darkness and to do that he had to kill—

"Brother," Freak said, not quite in a fearful tone, but in something that was very close, "I know you're there. I need your help—"

He dodged three outstretched claws aimed for his neck and rolled to his feet in a more assertive stance—but it was clear from his posture that he was ready to dodge and not attack. So, it was with impunity that the Master of darkness pressed his attack. He didn't bother with finesse or form or even really going for lethal shots—he just struck with maximum power, over and over and over, taking advantage of the energy that his body had learned to store in its bones. Freak could dodge, to be sure, but not forever—and getting clipped with just one of those vicious blows could knock him out or even kill him if he took it at the wrong angle

Freak could win in a second if he tried to. But he wouldn't lift a finger against his brother—his blood—and the Master of darkness knew this. And so despite the exertion of lashing out so repeatedly, the adversary laughed, crazily, in a way that hurt Freak because he knew that his brother's throat was hurt from such a display of mirth.

This couldn't last for long.

And yet, nothing seemed to motivate the li-tigon into striking his own brother. The Master of darkness pushed harder and harder and harder, employing assaults that were increasingly reckless—at this point, he was simply showing off his ability to attack without fear. Freak had any number of openings but he wouldn't take any, not with his brother's safety at risk.

What even Freak couldn't ignore, though, was that he was running out of energy a lot more quickly than he was used to. Taking down the Forbidden Island's defensive forces and fighting through the Nightmare Cave had taken a lot out of him and already he'd been ducking and dodging for a full two minutes.

Panic began to arise in the li-tigon. If he lost, then everyone lost: the Pride Landers, the Desert Pride's remnants, the White Sands' remnants, the Eastern Nomads, and his brother.

His brother.

Freak couldn't look into the other li-tigon's eyes for long, but here and there, he got the chance. It was bizarre on so many different levels to see someone that was, all at once, exactly the same as him and entirely different. His brother looked exactly the way he did, but the lives they'd led were completely different.

What actually scared Freak was the possibility—the _probability_ that he could have ended up as his brother currently was. The path through time and fate that put him where he was now was largely made by chance and sheer dumb luck. Supposing that he had been the one to fall out of his home cave?...

Freak didn't want to think about that too much. It was lucky that he had the possibility of getting torn limb from limb by his own brother to distract him.

The display of feline grace and complete, unbridled aggression together was quite a spectacle, even for Freak himself. In a way, the li-tigon had a front row seat to a forest fire: he could watch the disaster in front of him explode from close range.

Panic began to rise in Freak when he realized that he was rapidly approaching the end of his physical prowess. His limbs were sore and he was breathing rapidly, but his brother's body seemed as fresh and energetic as ever—and he had been laughing the entire time. There had to be a way out of this, _some_ way out of this—

The Master of darkness got a claw into Freak's flesh. It stuck into the li-tigon's neck and carved a long, deep path upward, coming free only after colliding with the thick bone of Freak's jaw.

Before the white-hot pain struck him, Freak jumped back and applied a paw to the grievous wound. If it had been a centimeter to the side, he would have been dead and rigid already.

Already, the Master of darkness was running in for another attack. Freak wasn't even being given a chance to breathe.

If out of nothing besides sheer frustration, the li-tigon roared, loudly, although not for very long before he and his brother closed again. But this time, Freak wasn't being simply passive.

The Master of darkness raced in with a long, high tackle, and Freak saw it coming from a mile off. His response was as effective as it was intuitive—he directed his energy upward and backward after pressing his form low to the ground. In this manner, he used his brother's energy against him and took advantage of his own bulk and experience with fighting other predators: the two li-tigons sailed through the air before striking the ground with a violent crash.

One landed on top, though, with his thick foreleg wrapped around the other cat's shoulder and neck. By pulling in with his other paw, the dominant cat applied enough force to the other's neck to crush a tire: his intention wasn't to kill, but, rather, to weaken.

Of course, it was Freak who came out on top. He always did.

The Master of darkness struggled to escape, but Freak had been taught to fight in the Hindustani way. There was nothing the born-and-raised African could do that could get Freak off of him.

What, though, was Freak's goal? He could choke the Master of darkness to death, but that would kill his brother as well. His other option was to let go, but that would doom himself as well. He had the li-tigon by the neck and could neither hold him nor safely let him go. Justice was in one scale and self-preservation was in the other, and the Lion Sheikh will award one and a _half _points to whoever correctly identifies the reference that was just made.

Freak shut his eyes, but not for long. He was used to making snap decisions; they had been the only kind of decisions he'd made for half of his life anyway. They tended to be right, however—so the moment the li-tigon felt he had a workable idea, he implemented it and hoped for the best.

He released his brother, the Master of darkness—but his intent was not merciful. This was a fight that no one could afford for him to lose.

Freak stared at his brother as the other li-tigon turned, muscle rippling beneath his fur. When the Master of darkness attacked again, he would be ready for Freak to grab him and would react accordingly. The li-tigon's last conceivable option had been used—so he resorted to the inconceivable.

"I am not a threat."

It was a simple statement, although it was hard to accept as truth. After all, Freak had come somewhat close to choking his own brother to death—but that didn't necessarily imply malice. After all, at the time, Freak was being attacked. Yet, he had reacted with more force than was necessary to simply live—would his brother rethink his threat analysis? If so, would the results be good for Freak, himself, and the entire Land of the Spirits?

The distance between the two li-tigons closed; Freak's brother was not slowing down. Freak didn't budge, though—he simply stood where he was with his feet planted and a neutral—or perhaps somewhat sad expression on his face. His brother was every bit as impressive, as fast, as powerful, and as deadly effective at what he did as Freak was, and it seemed that Freak would be yet another being whose last sight would be the bizarrely graceful manner in which he was killed by a cat like whom there was _one _other.

Freak didn't shut his eyes. A source of idle curiosity for him, especially over the past several months, had been the topic of death. Would it hurt? What would happen afterward? The traditional destinations included Heaven and Hell, but Freak could not seriously imagine himself in either setting. He imagined that he'd simply fade away, or perhaps vanish abruptly and completely when life left him.

It looked like he was going to find out now.

The Master of darkness was beyond the point of no return when Freak's eyes looked beyond the evil being's and into his brother's.

And then something happened.

There was certainly no way to completely avoid a collision, not by that point. Freak's brother had already left the ground with his body postured to maximize aerodynamicity. The li-tigon's paws led the way, with all ten deadly claws outstretched—if the sheer momentum of the impact didn't kill Freak, his neck would be shredded apart in seconds.

As we all know, however, from reading—and in the Lion Sheikh's case, writing—over two dozen chapters about Freak, there is almost nothing within the realm of possibility that is also outside of Freak's ability to execute. His brother was no different. So, when the two li-tigons worked together, there was literally virtually nothing that they could not do.

Freak dodged to his right more rapidly than he could think. Every muscle fiber in his prominent trapezius fired off at once, dangerously—he might have injured himself seriously but at the moment that did not matter. Even what he had done might not have been enough, alone, to avoid a deadly wound.

But Freak was not the only one acting out at the last, desperate second to try to change what had conceivably been an inescapable fate.

Freak's brother—nameless, voiceless, emotionless—moved as well. He withdrew his claws and changed the angle of his forelegs relative to his body so that, at worst, Freak would catch a glancing blow from his wrist to the side of the face.

The Lion Sheikh cannot emphasize how close things came to disaster. But what actually happened was far less impressive: Freak saw a blur and felt a wave of air flatten the thick, fluffy fur on his cheek and that was all.

Then, of course, he hit the ground, skidded, for a few yards, before scrambling to his feet to see what was happening to his brother.

Freak's landing had not been graceful, but his brother's was far worse. The Master of darkness had realize what was going on a split second after his body had sailed harmlessly beyond its target—and now, he was battling the owner of his body for control. As a result, Freak watched a form almost identical to his shake and twitch on the ground, alternating between hissing loudly and speaking words so vulgar that the fur on the back of Freak's neck began to stand on end.

He paced, twice, before cautiously moving toward his brother. As he did so, the expression on his face grew progressively uglier—by the time the two li-tigons were within five feet of one another, Freak was positively seething.

Watching what was going on inches from his broad, powerful paws made Freak feel that he'd induced an out-of-body experience more complete than anything he'd ever felt before. But he knew that what he was watching was actually going on in the real world, not just his mind. His brother was on the ground before him, unable to control his own body, struggling alone against a being more powerful than anything that was easily comprehensible.

And Freak could do nothing to help, no matter how badly he wanted to rip the cruel worm that was the Master of darkness out of his brother's mind and throttle it to death as violently as possible. He had moved into a position to help—at least, that's what he'd attempted to. Ironically, now, when he was all but touching his brother, he felt even more helpless than he had before.

The Master of darkness managed to seize control, for a moment, long enough for him to look up into Freak's eyes and grin venomously.

"I'm killing your brother's _soul_, freak. Do you understand what that means? I—"

That was as far as he got. The malicious red glint in the other li-tigon's eyes died, at least temporarily, as the dark gunmetal color Freak had only ever known as his own returned.

The two brothers stared at one another for a long moment. Freak's brother was on his back while the other li-tigon was looking downward from such a position that relative to the other, each was upside down. They had never seen one another before for any significant amount of time, nor from such a distance—but now, they were able to see one another in an almost intimate manner. Freak could see that his brother was a fighter by nature and Freak's brother could see that Freak was as well—they were both beings that thrived off of constant conflict and challenge, although neither would admit it. They had both only ever experienced combat and difficulty that successively came close to but didn't quite overcome them.

Freak turned his head to the side so that his brother could see the scar across his eye. Time had not healed it, nothing ever would, and Freak wasn't entirely sure why he displayed it. Maybe he held some strange belief that his brother would recognize the marking as identical to that of his father's—a father whom he'd never met, of course. More likely, Freak wanted his brother to see that he'd been pressed beyond the point of no return—and yet had returned.

His brother was about to lose the battle. It was not in Freak's character to cheer his brother on. He didn't have the words to do so. But he could motivate his brother in a way that only a brother could.

"Is that all you've got?"

For a moment, the deep maroon Freak had come to associate with the Master of darkness continued to push out the subdued gray that was his brother's natural eye color. Defeat was so close that, briefly, Freak began to steel himself and extend his claws. It seemed that yes, after all, he was prepared to execute his own brother to save the Land of the Spirits.

In the end, however, Freak's brother won out. With a final burst of effort he expelled the Master of darkness from his system and in the same rapid movement got to his feet and prepared for the fight of his life. Freak saw hardly any of this—his vision was tracking the dark cloud that flew from his brother's upper body and struck the ground some dozens of yards away.

Freak continued to look at the bizarre aberration for a moment longer—then he turned to his brother. The other li-tigon, it seemed, was combat-ready and _mad _—the vicious snarl on his face made Freak nearly take a step back in concern for his own safety. He had to wonder—when he bared his teeth at his enemies, did they feel the same primal fear that he just had?

At the far end of that white, dimensionless location, the cloud of dust and soot collapsed and became more coherent. At the same time, Freak and his brother spread out, moving in opposing circular motion with respect to the object. They didn't communicate—they didn't need to because each of them knew what the other was going to do. After all, they were brothers.

That fact, however, might not be enough to let them eke out a victory—not from a foe like this. As the two felines gave themselves mental shakedowns and contemplated the range of attacks available to them, the Master of darkness took form.

Constructed out of black smoke too thick to be seen through, the entity was huge. It stood at least eight feet tall at the shoulder and its limbs were as thick as tree trunks. Although roughly feloid in appearance, the Master of darkness had obvious canine influences in terms of muscle build and facial structure. Its shape, terribly, was not constant—every instance of time it was changing, shifting, convulsing, moving. Now and again, Freak swore he saw faces similar to ones he'd known seated atop the Master of darkness's neck: his father, his grandmother, his grandfather, and others. Most unsettling of all, however, were the adversary's eyes.

Perhaps literally, the two large globes of molten lava burned through time and space and flesh to assault whatever they rested on with unadulterated malice. Freak had to blink after looking his enemy in the eye for a second or so—it actually, physically hurt him to do so.

"So…" The Master of darkness's voice was now deeper and harsher than it had been when he'd been speaking through Freak's brother. It was as if he was talking from every location the two brothers could sense at once—he was everywhere, it seemed, and would communicate to them as such.

The massive, cat-like creature shook himself off, sending plumes of smoke and dust in all directions. The thin, wispy layer of darkness covered everything in sight, getting to within several feet of Freak and his brother. The two li-tigons immediately sensed danger—and slowly moved back toward one another. The black mist at their feet moved aside, and when they were close enough, it simply surrounded them both as if they were one unit.

"You might have pushed me ought of your body," the Master of darkness said, glaring venomously at Freak's brother. He grinned, then, but continued in a harder tone. "But you will never push me out of my Island…"

Freak hissed, loudly, as did his brother. But the Master of darkness simply laughed and took a few steps back, until he was on the periphery of that strange alter-reality—and then, they began to appear.

Spontaneously constructing themselves out of the dark, airborne powder silently washing over the ground, at least a dozen beings of indeterminate species appeared. They were built and proportioned like the Master of darkness, and before Freak or his brother could consider their options, they were attacked.

In the opening of the battle that followed, Freak did little more than dodge—but that in itself wasn't so easy to do. Since his enemies were made of smoke, rather than any coherent substance, limbs swung out of thin air—but so far, Freak was without injury. He was starting to see a pattern in the way the smoke-beings acted; they were far, far too coordinated to be distinct beings. The li-tigon danced out of the way of a long, low tackle—and didn't have to look or listen to know to duck a pair of jaws aimed at his neck.

He'd encountered foes like this before. The Bhangar Clan was a recent example—and the group of sibling assassins that had tried to take him down so long ago as well. Each individual in the group was a finger of the same hand, but in this case, Freak guessed that his enemies did not make their decisions communally. They were puppets—and they had a Master.

Freak checked on his brother when he could, still biding his time and seeking a good chance to launch a counteroffensive. From what he could tell, the other li-tigon was quite different from him in terms of how he fought—but he was doing fine. He would be able to hold his own, at least, while Freak moved to suppress their enemies.

At first, the li-tigon was quite conservative. He did not go for openings that would lead to quick, decisive, or brutal ends; his enemies were not amateurs and knew how to attack without forgetting their own limitations. Rather, Freak struck sporadically in well-planned and carefully executed combinations intended to take a gradual toll on the opposing force. As their form collapsed, so would their bodies.

As it became clear that Freak was going on the offensive, his brother joined in. The other li-tigon was every bit as effective as Freak, and every bit as cautious and careful and detached as well. At a few points during the very dynamic engagement, the two felines fought either side by side or back to back, relying on one another for protection. It quickly became clear that their strategy was working a lot better than the Master of darkness realized—when Freak was able to wrench one of the smoke-being's legs out of its socket and throw it into the air for his brother to put down with a bite to the trapezius, he decided to take a risk.

Freak kept his intentions clouded, at first, making it look like he was losing ground. It was no coincidence, however, that he was being "forced" toward the Master of darkness himself—and as the li-tigon had correctly guessed would be the case, the puppet Master was too busy controlling his underlings to notice that Freak was even then on rapid approach.

Freak got as close as he dared to the Master of darkness without alerting him to his plans—and then, at the last moment, he turned on his heel and sprinted. In his peripheral vision, he saw the several smoke-beings that were in fighting condition break from their current actions to go after him, and if Freak was alone, they might have stopped him. But his brother saw what was going on, and after snapping his own opponent's foreleg with a brutal locking maneuver, he threw away his own safety so that Freak could have a shot at their real enemy: he jumped into the air and used his own form as a battering ram to clear Freak's vicinity of smoke-beings.

With his path to the Master of darkness cleared, Freak focused on his attack. Owing to his opponent's size, most normal techniques would not work, at least not without great modification—Freak had to synthesize something on the spot, but he would never have gotten to where he was then without that precise ability.

The li-tigon feinted once—to the side—and saw the Master of darkness's foreleg twitch, slight, in preparation to fight from a different position. That was his opening.

With alarming alacrity, Freak darted in the opposite direction that he'd feinted in and latched onto the inside of the Master of darkness's foreleg. He didn't jump high, or far, but simply timed his attack and performed it with the proper amount of power so that he wouldn't hurt himself in the effort. The li-tigon didn't have to use too much force to wrap his own legs around the Master of darkness's tree-sized limb—all of the damage this attack was intended to inflict was from shear, not blunt force.

Freak dug his claws and teeth alike into the Master of darkness's flesh. Although the monstrous being seemed to be made of smoke, Freak tasted blood—horribly putrid, rotten-smelling blood. He did not stay in place for very long, and that wasn't good. The Master of darkness's form—perhaps his true form—was extremely muscular, and although Freak had ravaged his flesh for a full second, he hadn't come close to any vital blood vessels. He hadn't even momentarily disabled the Master of darkness's limb.

He got off, however, before the Master of darkness could strip half the flesh off his back with a claw or shatter him into oblivion with a paw. The li-tigon hit the ground and dashed away, too fast and small and agile to be attacked. He had figured something out—and that was that the Master of darkness could not fight with his own body and those of his subordinates at the same time—not to great effect, anyway. That was why the li-tigon's brother was finishing off his _third_ smoke-being—without their Master to control them, they were next to lifeless.

Now that Freak was no longer gnawing at his leg, though, the Master of darkness was free to retreat and wage a proxy war again. There were more smoke-beings, this time, and they were more varied in their distribution and physical attributes. Most were feline, but at least five of the two dozen or so alien beings were reptiles not dissimilar from scaled-down Rockland dragons.

Fighting against the greater number of enemy forces would not have been difficult if their level of skill was similar to that of the previous wave of dark warriors. This new group of fighters was different, though—they weren't gifted with any significantly better physical traits, but they did seem to know how to fight much, much better than the others had. Freak accepted this grim fact after two of his own counteroffenses were parried and nearly turned against him.

This wasn't good. Freak ducked a joint attack by two smoke-beings and attempted to hurl one of them into the ground—but before he could get close to executing the technique, another attack came up behind him and forced him to break off.

The Master of darkness was attempting to bog the two brothers down. When they were exhausted, he'd snuff them out at his leisure—and even assuming this strategy failed, it would take so long to fail that by the time Freak and his brother had the chance to make a meaningful stand, there wouldn't be anything left to make a stand for.

But what choice did they have? They couldn't go for the Master of darkness—this time, their enemies were noticeably more wise. They did not let the li-tigons lead them into straying from positions that would allow them to jump to their Master's defense immediately. When necessary, they held back from offenses that would have shortened the battle—and the brothers' lives. They were taking no risks; they were selfless to the core. Regardless of what losses they suffered, these new, semi-autonomous smoke-beings would not let Freak or his brother get near their Master.

The battle continued without significant change for perhaps five minutes. The li-tigons had managed to hack their way through perhaps half of the original group of smoke-beings, but more were being created all the time. The dark mist surrounded them on all sides, so the moment they killed one foe they had to be on their toes for another one. Every time it felt like they were making even the smallest gains, the smoke-beings would rise up and either multiply or execute some sort of kamikaze attack. Many of them would get killed, of course, but Freak and his brother would see no net advancement.

And, of course, the li-tigons were only able to dodge and block and parry for so long. Now, their injuries were starting to show, and it wouldn't be long before they were no longer able to do, well, anything.

Freak couldn't see how he was supposed to win. He had never fought so hard in his life—he couldn't even spare a thought to anything else but fighting because there wasn't the time to do so. He lost track of everything not directly relevant to what he was doing; he couldn't even keep track of what enemies were where or what forms they were in. Everythign became a continuous stream of chaos; Freak even lost his own self-awareness for a few black moments.

By and by, the two li-tigons were forced to the fringe of the clearing. They were able to fight defensively and just next to one another, but they were surrounded and the pressure working against them was increasing, exponentially. There were no patterns now, and killing one or two or five foes did no good. Any damage they did to their enemies was shaken off without ill effect.

It was hard to say how or when Freak realized what they were doing wrong. It was even hard to say if it was Freak that realized it, and not his brother. By instinct, they were fighting to live, not to win. For so many years, the only purpose of fighting was to live—but now, they were fighting for causes bigger than either or both of their individual selves. Their priorities were misplaced… that's why they would not be able to win unless they serious changed the nature of the way they fought.

The brothers looked at one another for a moment—there was no time to do anything else—and then they forgot about their own safety and stormed the sea of smoke-beings before them.

Freak knew that he was being attacked. He ignored it. He didn't have the time to deal with his own pain.

He encountered surprisingly little resistance as he ran through the enemy legions. Perhaps it was some metaphysical property—attacking the smoke-beings caused their ability to produce normal force but simply existing where they did did not. Whatever it was, it gave Freak a real sense of calm and righteousness, as if he was doing precisely what he was meant to be.

He hoped it was legitimate. He didn't want to die rationalizing his own ineptitude.

His brother was at his side. Neither of the cats had the wit or physical ability to attack the smoke-beings all around them, not at those speeds, so they simply lowered their heads and shrugged off the glancing but vicious blows that landed all over their twin bodies. The white ambience of the place made their stripes quite visible—but, rapidly, their sides were not striped with neat patches of black fur. They were sliced up and down too many times to count—their coats very nearly structurally failed.

But they broke past the smoke-beings. They broke past them and crossed the fifty or so yards to the Master of darkness in less than a second—before he could release control of his subordinates and use his own body. Freak and his brother only had a few heartbeats to attack with impunity—and they used that brief period of time well.

By the time the Master of darkness was able to shake the two li-tigons off him, they'd cut through the weak, unprotected flesh under his massive forelegs. The muscle there had not been clenched when they'd struck; hence, it was now actually somewhat shredded. The wounds were not serious, to be sure, but they were a start. And it seemed that it was a lot harder for the Master of darkness to fight off two li-tigons than it was for him to fight off one.

Freak and his brother acted autonomously. Sometimes, they attacked at the same time, but for the most part their assaults were offset from one another by whatever interval of time it took for an opening to be created. This randomized system of intermittent pressure was not something the Master of darkness knew how to work against.

The massive, semi-coherent form reached out with a foreleg, swiping low to the ground. Freak's brother jumped and cleared it, and immediately raced in to go for the connective tissue at the Master of darkness's elbow. At the same time, Freak himself harassed the Master of darkness from the other direction, feinting repeated toward the giant's face. Out of instinct, the Master of darkness focused on Freak and allowed the li-tigon's brother to get a large, flesh bite out of a vital tendon in his foreleg.

The one reason why Freak and his brother were able to do so well had nothing to do with their own speed or agility—the Master of darkness was evenly matched against them or more in those respects. They had a slight net advantage on him, however, because there were two of him and they were small targets. The two felines were too tiny and quick for the Master of darkness's paws to touch them, no matter how much ferocity he swung at them with. He might create dents in the ground five feet deep and as far across, but he couldn't touch the two brothers.

But this dance could not last forever. It was tiring for the two li-tigons to execute such high-energy moves as leaping several feet into the air and sprinting and attacking so quickly all with no breaks and in a chaotic, arrhythmic fashion. The Master of darkness was only starting to show signs of real injury by ten minutes into this new stage of the conflict, but Freak and his brother were really starting to reach the ends of their physical abilities.

* * *

Failure was imminent, but Freak and his brother were out of options. Any change in strategy that was implemented now would be far too little, far too late. Even the hope that somehow, things might suddenly change was getting bleaker and bleaker. The li-tigons were getting exhausted; they were on the verge of collapsing—and a single blow from the Master of darkness's massive paws would be fatal.

There was a lull in the battle, for a moment, but Freak imagined that the Master of darkness had only allowed it so that he could admire his work—just for a moment. As it turned out, Freak's brother had ended up not far from Freak himself, and both li-tigons were panting, gasping for breath and trying to prevent their vision from getting too blurry, too narrow, and—

The impact was unlike anything else Freak had ever experienced in his life. It was even more intense than what he'd suffered in the Nightmare Cave—because now, Freak knew that his pain was real and that the end of his life really was imminent.

His body was broken. He was bleeding heavily, internally and externally, and if there was a major component of his body that was functioning he didn't know it. He turned his head to the side, somehow, so that at least he wouldn't drown in his own blood—and looked into his brother's eyes.

Freak tried to smile. He tried to say something, but he couldn't. He was too badly hurt. He tried to cough, at least, so he could spend a few seconds more with his brother—but he couldn't even do that.

His brother was terrified. Freak didn't know how he knew that, but he saw the other li-tigon's eyes roll around in their sockets, looking everywhere, rapidly, for some sort of answer, some sort of possibility, some sort of escape—but there were none. There was nothing either of them could do.

"Don't worry," Freak wanted to say. "This might be the end… but it's not the end of everything. After this existence, there is another…"

If he had said that, though, he would have been lying. After this loss… there would be nothing. Heaven itself would be overturned—the only place for Freak and his brother to go would be black nothingness or permanent, ever-deepening Hell.

Freak closed his eyes. But he was not allowed to peacefully drift away—because the Master of darkness had plodded up to him, deliberately, and lifted him off the ground by the scruff of the neck. The li-tigon fell limp, instinctively—but he tried to struggle regardless. It was to no avail; it was surprising that he didn't literally fall apart from the jolt of being picked up.

Panting, he managed to keep his eyes open. He didn't know, why, but he wanted to look at his killer—though he knew it would do him no good. It wouldn't make any kind of difference at all.

The Master of darkness said something, then, that no one would ever know. Freak's eyes began to glaze over as his internal organs failed—but that was not how the li-tigon died. His victor snarled at him, viciously, and opened his jaws so that for a moment, the li-tigon looked directly into the black abyss of his throat.

The Master of darkness bit Freak's head off. He took the li-tigon's decapitated body and slammed it onto Freak's brother, repeatedly, until there was nothing left but blood, broken bones, and bits of gore.

Freak was gone. And the last thing his brother ever felt was terrible, numbing sadness: his last act was to realize that before he could even grasp that he had not been alone in the world, he was alone again.

There was nothing, then. The smoke-beings were gone; they were no longer necessary. The Master of darkness looked around, once—then smirked widely, malevolently. He began to laugh—he'd won. They'd tried and tried and tried to defeat him, but in the end, evil had prevailed. Soon, he was screaming in almost insane mirth—he had won. Freak and his pathetic brother were dead and the war in the Pride Lands was coming to a close. He had won.

* * *

(I'z gawn caaaatch me a raaaabit… hum hum, hum hum hum…)


	33. Nexus V: The Iteration Corollary

The Lion King: The Freak

Chapter 33: Nexus V: The Iteration Corollary

* * *

(Does space exist?)

* * *

"Son—let me show you something."

It was hard to say where he got his appearance from. With a long black mane and brilliant, green eyes, Ahadi was not remotely similar in appearance to his father. Beyond that, Mohatu was massive, whereas Ahadi was still on the slight side—though, as he grew from a cub into an adult, that was starting to change…

The two lions were alone, then, in a land all at once identical to and completely different from the Pride Lands that the Lion Sheikh has introduced you to. There were less lions, back in the day. Population growth was slow and controlled by nature, since life, after all, was never an easy thing to survive at the beginning. Over time, of course, the Pride Landers would increase in number—but when Ahadi was just a cub, there was just his family and immediate relations and perhaps two others.

There was no evil in those days. There was no conflict, either. Any time either of those two slights on existence occurred, Mohatu stamped it out. Peace's reign was complete, but as Mohatu reached his older years, he had started to make preparations for a time when his wisdom and divinity would not lead the Pride Lands.

He was still very much alive, though. And Ahadi, for one, would enjoy his father's life while it lasted. Without hesitation, he approached his father, joining the massive lion at the far eastern border of the Pride Lands.

It was just before dust. A sliver of the Sun remained on the horizon to the west, but most of the sky was already covered in a dark, starry blanket. Although Mohatu had already theorized that fallen Lion Kings looked down upon their lands and descendants as stars, the belief hadn't really caught on quite yet. But Ahadi believed his father—and as he took the sanguine lion's side, he saw the retreating Sun bare yet another distant, twinkling orb.

"What is it, Father?" Ahadi saw that Mohatu had two crabs in front of him. The shellfish had been caught in a nearby stream, but rather than eating the rare treat, Mohatu was examining them, turning them over in his paws. As he continued to do that, Ahadi saw that the two nonsentients were, in fact, completely identical…

"I have… not a prophecy. I'm not so sure about it. But I think… I might have a corollary to the Gemini Theory." Mohatu grinned in a tired sort of way that alarmed Ahadi to see. His father really was getting quite old.

For a moment, Mohatu set the crabs down on their feet. Of course, the terrified shellfish raced to escape, scuttling through the grass and moist, grainy soil to get back to their home—but every time they got too far, Mohatu would block them and bat them or bring them back to his immediate vicinity. This continued, for a moment, until the crabs finally made a stand. Side by side, they circled around Mohatu with their claws open and ready to clamp down on whatever target he gave them—but of course they could do nothing to prevent him from bodily grabbing them again.

Mohatu placed the crabs one on top of the other in his paws. He concentrated, for a moment—then pressed down with as much force as he could. There was a sickly sort of _crunch_—and then silence.

Nothing happened.

"Father, what did you do? I know they were twins… but does that have anything to do with the Gemini Theory?" Ahadi tilted his head and watched as his father opened his paws. There was nothing there—no blood, no bits of broken chitin, nothing. The legendary feline must have crushed the crabs into literal oblivion.

Mohatu looked disappointed. He turns his paws over before him, for a moment, before sighing. He looked at his son and grinned in a guilty sort of way. He had, after all, always taught his boy that violence was only justified when necessary—aggression never was.

"I must have made a mistake," he explained. "I was going to call it, 'The Iteration Corollary.' The idea is that twins—Gemini—might act in… unpredictable manners if killed under very specific circumstances. You know, these aren't true Gemini—these are just blood brothers. They aren't one and the same, minus one event or property. And perhaps The Iteration Corollary requires—no, I'm just rationalizing at this point." Mohatu sighed again. If he'd confirmed this new theory… bah. Bah. It wasn't true. And it was getting late.

"Come along, Ahadi," the dark-furred lion said, after a moment. He walked to the west, in the general direction of Pride Rock, with his tufted tail flicking behind him. After a moment, his son followed him, after curiously looking around—he'd sworn he'd heard something—but there was nothing. There was nothing. What would there be? How could there be something?

* * *

Nature, in general, is continuous, rather than discrete. For that reason, it's difficult to think of a given entity as the summation of a series of other entities—but think, for a moment. Everything is the sum of all it was in the past—the present is the sum of the past in general with the added variable of free will.

Is it so unreasonable to think of living, beings, then—with functioning, sentient minds—as simply additional iterations of their past selves?

Consider, for a moment, the metaphysical properties that created Kifo and Freak and Freak's brother; that decided how they could interact with one another; and that even swapped Freak's and Kifo's minds, although not for a very long time. Of course, these facts are all but unknowable to mankind—but that does not invalidate them. Natural law _is_, regardless of what we think or desire of it.

The Master of darkness was still laughing when he became aware of a presence behind him. It was hard to say what had tipped him off—maybe it was just intuition. But the heart of the Forbidden Island was physically as well as metaphysically isolated from the rest of world—it was quite chilly. The addition of a dozen extra bodies shortly increased the average temperature of the place, and not by an insignificant degree.

Although constructed of smoke, or something very much like it, the Master of darkness still had a face. He still had facial expressions, too—and that meant that when he turned around, he went from smiling to gaping in disbelief in about half a second.

What he was seeing was not possible, not under the normal laws of physics. It wasn't possible under the special laws that applied in the Forbidden Island either, or even the laws applicable only to states of complete and total war—or so he thought. But the Master of darkness had not taken into account Mohatu's hidden prophecy—the Iteration Corollary of the Gemini Theory.

Collisions between the natural world and the Spirit world were not supposed to be possible. Whenever they happened, or got close to happening, both distinct worlds acted quickly to fix things—that was why the end of Scar's monarchy had been marked with such bloodshed and natural phenomenon. That was why the end of this final war would be Earth-shattering, literally, regardless of which way it ended—and it was also why when Freak and his brother were killed, so close to one another and in such a manner—all of their selves were forced out of the Spirit world and back into the natural world.

Six of each li-tigon were visible. But many, many, many more awaited, circling in the air around the battlefield as bodiless yet Earthbound Spirits, simply waiting for their time to come. Their presences were menacing, at least to the Master of darkness—but not nearly as much as the forms that actually existed. A pride of lions, after all, was one thing. But a pride of li-tigons was something entirely different.

Freak's iterations were skewed toward his younger years. The youngest had existed just before Freak had left the Jungle—yet, despite being not quite fully grown, that Freak was as determined and dangerous as any of the other cats at his sides. Freak's brother's selves were older—all of them had existed within the past year at most.

The li-tigons began to fan out. Freak and his brother were practically one and the same, and, of course, each li-tigon's discrete selves were identical—so their teamwork was mechanical. Blows had not been exchanged, yet, but even the Master of darkness couldn't keep one straight from the other.

Freak and his brother were not sure where they were or even who they were at that point. But it didn't matter—they didn't matter anymore. Their former selves were no longer in the Spirit world, so if their physical selves ended enough times, they would be unable to go to Heaven… and the Master of darkness would _not_ go down without taking many, many li-tigons with him. So, all that was left for them to do was defeat the Master of darkness—this was the entire point not just of their lives, but of their entire existences.

Tension positively crackled through the air. The Master of darkness was no longer laughing, nor talking, nor asking questions, nor doing anything else at all. He couldn't mess around; now, there was no denying it—if he won, it would not be by a comfortable margin.

For a moment, the two opposing forces simply faced one another. The li-tigons' expressions were identical—all were snarling in an open threat display, and all were on their toes to prepare to attack or defend as necessary.

All were noble Warrior Kings prepared to be martyrs for their cause.

Someone took a step forward. And then, chaos reigned supreme.

The Master of darkness shifted forms too suddenly for Freak and his brother to mount an effective first strike. Indeed, for a moment, the Master of darkness was little more than a rolling, tumultuous ball of smoke, immeasurable in shape, size, or other qualities. The li-tigons simply scattered and let the raging cloud race past them—then, they turned on their heels and gave chase.

It wasn't long before the Master of darkness planted his feet and selected a more coherent form. As a feline—still more massive than even the most recent iterations of Freak or his brother, but no longer the monolith that he had been—the Master of darkness extended claws the size of short daggers and attacked.

He was fast, he really was, when his body wasn't the size of a small mountain. The amount of aggression that the Master of darkness employed was difficult to match, but Freak and his brothers and their other selves did it. The Master of darkness might have had them beat in terms of the ability to take out and resist violence—but the two li-tigons had made a living out of fighting. Their lone two advantages—skill and numbers—would be tested to their limits—but they would not be easily broken.

Freak's youngest self was sacrificed almost immediately. He threw his body in the way of the Master of darkness's claws and was almost cut in half, but he'd done what he meant to. The adversary was slowed down and his concentration was broken—and Freak's dying act was to employ his own claws and jaws at the fleshy, unprotected union of the Master of darkness's digit and claw. Before he was slammed into the ground and crushed, the li-tigon had messily torn the Master of darkness's middle claw socket almost to the point of failure—a worthwhile attack.

That Freak vanished, but another took his place. Before the Master of darkness could recover from that attack, the surviving li-tigons—and the newest iteration of Freak as well—were on him.

Two of them went for his neck. The rest went for his face—his eyes and nose and ears in particular. They intended to disable him, while those on the Master of darkness's neck concentrated on tearing out thick tufts of fur with their claws rather than going for any direct hits. The Master of darkness was too well-protected for them to go for any killing wounds so early in the engagement.

For a moment, the sheer number of different attackers—of different claws tearing, gnawing, ripping at his flesh nearly overwhelmed the Master of darkness. He tried to bite the li-tigons without any effect—he used his paws to brush them off his face, but to do that, he had to stop moving. They got back on him seconds after he shoved them off, anyway, and if he dropped the pace of the fight for more than a moment, he knew he would lose.

Real fear was starting to rise in the Master of darkness's gut, but, for the moment, he brushed it aside. One li-tigon struck a particularly sensitive group of nerves inside the fold of his left ear and he hissed in agony—then saw how to protect himself from an attack like this.

The Master of darkness stopped in his tracks and then shook himself like a dog. Freak and his brother flew off him in all directions—some would have been cast out of the alter-reality created just for this fight in the middle of the Forbidden Island if it wasn't for some sort of intangible force that pushed them back into the fight.

Some fell from great heights and were injured in the process. Most landed messily but in one piece and turned their energies back to the offensive, but the Master of darkness would not let himself be touched.

He ran and didn't stop. His agility was incredible, and so was his speed—somehow, he managed to contain his path into a tight circle around the perimeter of what was, for all intents and purposes, reality.

In moments, Freak and his brother and their other selves had been corralled into a tight group in the center of the ring. The toughest of the bunch were concentrated out, closest to the Master of darkness, while the younger, weaker li-tigons stayed toward the center of the group. Quickly, though, even they had to blink rapidly to prevent the sand and soot and smoke and smog that the Master of darkness was kicking up from getting into their eyes. The Master of darkness was laughing, and shouting words too dark and jumbled-together for the Lion Sheikh to explain—but it was clear that he was going to attack, soon. And when he attacked, it would be in a devastating, devastating manner.

The li-tigons weren't having any of that.

They made the decision simultaneously and yet autonomously. Instead of letting the Master of darkness attack as he willed, _they_ attacked in something very similar to a kamikaze suicide-move.

All of them raced outward.

The biggest li-tigons, located at the fringe of the position that they had taken and held, were, of course, the first to make contact with the Master of darkness. Running, snarling, they were all sure to reach out with their paws as they got to within yards of the incoherent enemy so that he would collide with their claws, hopefully shredding his fur in the process—their moves were synchronized _precisely_, there was no tolerance at all. At the exact same instance of time, they all crossed the final line—and the Master of darkness again came into being.

Six li-tigons had been on the front line against the Master of darkness. Six paws had reached out and were summarily smashed into pulp—but six iterations of the Master of darkness fell, injured, hissing and clutching at bloody, deep gashes on their faces.

The six smaller li-tigons pressed forward as their older brothers stumbled, briefly, almost overwhelmed by the mind-numbing pain they'd largely inflicted upon themselves. The Master of darkness's iterations—they weren't fully coherent, since even the original, consolidated lord of the lands was not completely part of the physical realm. Flickering in and out of existence, they attempted to stand—but before they could, Freak and his brother's younger selves were on them.

The Master of darkness moved quickly, but his reactions were off. He didn't seem to be able to control so many of himself all at once—although he'd never had a problem keeping track of many underlings at the same time. The reason for this grievous inadequacy would remain unknown, at least for the time being—Freak and his brother were pressing their advantage while it existed.

Three of the li-tigons attacked traditionally, with their jaws or claws. One took the fight to the ground, tackling his opponent and going for a choke-hold around his neck—but two almost danced forward, before, at the last moment, lowering their skulls and bashing the Master of darkness with the toughest parts of their craniums.

They were about to be backed up by their larger counterparts when something broke.

A vertex appeared in the middle of the plane of existence that Freak, his brother, and the Master of darkness were fighting on. It suddenly caused the ground underfoot to slope due some sort of non-contact force that also, inexorably, acted on Freak and his brother but not the Master of darkness.

As the li-tigons struggled for footing, the Master of darkness got to his feet. The ambience of the area had turned from white to black, save for the occasional flash of bright, hot light that lit things up for fractions of a second at a time—it was impossible to see, properly, but it looked like the adversary was grinning. He had every reason to, after all.

The soil itself remained static, for some reason. That made things somewhat manageable for Freak and his brother—it was as if reality had bent just when they were starting to do well in their battle. From making real gains, they'd gone to struggling to simply stay on their feet in about a half-second—and now, the Master of darkness again had the upper hand.

As maliciously as possible, the Master of darkness forced his several forms to convene. He seemed to grit his teeth as they got closer to one another—and by the time they were within twenty yards of one another, a loud, terrible howling bellowed directly into the li-tigons' ears. Some of them were startlingly close to their reality's asymptote, and they were nearly consumed by real, primal fear. It was impossible to say what might happen if they were to reach that dark, pointed abyss—but the gaping blackness that seemed to pour out from it was too malicious to ignore.

With the static crack of unstable electric short-circuits, the Master of darkness reconstituted himself. Instantly, reality was normalized; even the li-tigons placed most precariously with respect to the end of existence were suddenly on their feet and stable—but the Master of darkness had achieved his full fighting prowess again. And the form he'd now taken on would make any damage he could dish out several times worse and several times more difficult to avoid than what he'd previously been capable of.

Though still constructed of smoke, the Master of darkness seemed to be some sort of cephalopod. His main mass—his head and apparent vitals—were shrouded in smoke and protected by what looked like columns of dark energy flowing from the ground itself. Freak knew what Kifo had been capable of with that sort of weapon—he and his brother couldn't get near the Master of darkness's vulnerable points without grave personal risk.

For a moment, the li-tigons simply circled their enemy. They stayed out of reach of the dozen or so long, foreleg-thick tentacles that curled out from the Master of darkness's body, lashing around unpredictably. They sought a weak point to exploit; they did not all go clockwise or counterclockwise. But although the darkness and violent flashes of light continued, they saw no weakness in the Master of darkness's defenses. His eyes—he now had eight of them, pointing in all directions—seemed as determined and relentless as ever. There was no way to think through this one—the only option was to fight and fight hard.

One of Freak's younger, smaller selves stepped forward; the rest of the li-tigons simply observed. The Master of darkness did not respond, immediately, though it was impossible to deny that several of his tentacles twitched toward the vulnerable juvenile. He knew what was going on, but he couldn't focus on threats that weren't blatant and allow even a near-cub to get close enough to do real harm.

The tension in the air was not as great as it had been at other points in the battle, since movement still existed. Apart from the Master of darkness's tentacles, the li-tigons continued to circle while the lone, brave juvenile moved forward, getting closer and closer and closer still to his destination. By now, it seemed that he and the Master of darkness were playing chicken—who would snap first and react?

As it turned out, it was the Master of darkness that gave in to caution and sent two tentacles flying down at Freak's youngest self with alarming speed. At the same time, the rest of the li-tigons moved in to back their young brother up, though they were held at bay by a flurry of attacks too fast to see, much less to dodge. The ends of the Master of darkness's tentacles could move stunningly, terrifyingly fast—but the one feline that had made the original advance was unhurt.

Toward the center of the Master of darkness's body, his tentacles grew waist-thick. As such, they were unwieldy and could not be moved quickly in any direction—they had an incredibly small range of motion, and, so, to attack a close-in target like the young li-tigon, the Master of darkness had to strike danger-close to himself.

But since his tentacles rained down from the air from a great distance and an awkward position, Freak's youngest self knew where they were coming from and where they were going. He easily dodged the first two blows—the Master of darkness's tentacles dug into the ground next to him, throwing up columns of dirt but leaving him unharmed. He continued to move, running in an oblique ellipse around his enemy's body so that he could not easily be tracked.

Face set and determined, the young li-tigon sought a tactic to disable the Master of darkness's retaliatory capabilities. He could not grip the base of his tentacles and gnaw through his flesh—the Master of darkness was too tough and too fast for that. After looking at the Master of darkness's center of mass, however, Freak considered a new tactic—and then implemented it without a second of hesitation.

While the youngest li-tigon continued to operate well within enemy territory, his older brothers did their part. The Master of darkness managed to keep track of all of his foes, however, and that would make things difficult. He did not seem confused by the erratic manner in which the li-tigons moved and threw out attacks, individually, without any sort of pattern. The Master of darkness's multiple eyes were unblinking and, apparently, all-seeing—Freak and his brother could not mount an attack without being seen.

That meant that their only option was to wear the Master of darkness down. There were no tricks, nor any shortcuts—they had to fight and fight and fight and fight until their job was finished. The youngest Freak could not continue to operate alone—he needed a diversion, at least, in order to make any real games.

The li-tigons backed the infiltrator up, then, by joining him within the Master of darkness's striking range. Three of them raced forward; two jumped over a tentacle aimed at taking their legs out while the last feline's head was smashed into the ground by the heavy strike of the Master of darkness's deadly limb. For a moment, that li-tigon struggled to pull his head out of the ground—then he fell still. He'd been paralyzed from the neck down, and a moment later, the Master of darkness made a clean job of things by wrapping the end of one tentacle around that li-tigon's head and crushing it into a pulp.

A white, orb-like source of light came into being, however, from somewhere above the battlefield and floated down toward the ground. When it was some ten feet above, it coalesced into flesh and bone and another li-tigon entered the fight. He didn't need any catching up or explaining—the moment his paws were on the ground, he was a full-fledged combatant.

The Master of darkness kept the rest of the li-tigons at bay, for the moment, but the three that were inside of his danger-zone would, sooner or later, figure out how to do real damage. If they didn't attack his tentacles, they would go for his eyes, since the main hulk of his body was protected by the constant columns of black energy strategically placed around it. The one problem was that now, the Master of darkness was static—he couldn't move, and that was a major disadvantage against group of dynamic, aggressive foes.

It looked like he'd have to make real sacrifices to live to see the next day. If he used too much energy here and now, he'd leave himself vulnerable going forward for years, perhaps more—but if he lost here and now, he'd lose forever. Just as Freak and his brother gave limited regard for any potential futures they might have after their lives were done, the Master of darkness would have to fight in the present to win in the present.

He took two of his multiple tentacles out of play, it seemed, holding them high over his body and moving them around one another in a bizarre pattern of some sort. Thus far, that action was inconsequential to the li-tigons—so they ignored it, except when they had a chance to glance up and wonder what on Earth their enemy was doing. Their advances were going well, in a fashion. No damage had been dealt to the Master of darkness yet, but they were all over him. It was only a matter of time before they found a weak point, or simply resorted to hacking him to pieces with their claws, taking whatever losses they came their way without regard for their afterlives.

Slowly, however, it became clear that the Master of darkness was preparing to do something truly devious. His tentacles were no longer acting in an incomprehensible manner—rather, they seemed to be cradling something far, far above the plane of combat, where Freak and his brother continued their perilous dances. They had launched a few brief assaults, but none got very far. The Master of darkness was simply too big, too well-protected, and too well-armed to be injured so early on.

Freak got an interesting idea, then. But the Master of darkness launched his counterattack before it could be executed.

From that point in his tentacles, some fifty feet above the static, boxy mass of his body, the Master of darkness had created a compressed ball of dark energy. A great deal of effort had gone into controlling and containing the deadly mass, but now, it was stable—and it was powerful. It was very nearly visible; in general, dark energy only created a burnt blotch across the visible spectrum of light when it—and so, the power of shiny, rolling sphere of black that the Master of darkness's tentacles seemed to come near, but never touch, must have been of nearly incalculable proportions.

Kifo's black energy attacks were powerful enough to raze entire forests to the ground, if he used them to do so. But this concentration of darkness was far more dangerous, and far less stable. Sporadically, jagged daggers of energy would lance out from the center of the ball to gouge deep black holes into the sky. The li-tigons' fur began to stand on end due to the involuntary discharges—the Master of darkness hadn't even attacked them yet.

True, Freak and his brother were still diving in and out of the Master of darkness's tentacles. No further losses had been taken, but sooner or later, that would change. The smaller ones, paradoxically, had an easier time dodging and weaving around near the Master of darkness's "head"—but their bigger brothers weren't so agile.

It was then that Freak—or perhaps his brother, but probably Freak—got an idea. The Master of darkness did not seem to be calling additional energy to the stockpile he already had, for fear of losing control of it entirely, but he was not attacking. A full minute had passed from when the Master of darkness's dark ball seemed to have reached critical mass—but he was not using it as yet. Still, the li-tigons were dancing in between the vicious assaults of his numerous appendages—but no one was gaining any ground.

The Master of darkness would not use dark energy to attack. Not when his enemies so close to him, anyway. But if any one of them gave him a clear shot, there was no doubt that the Mater of darkness would take it. So, of course, Freak and his brother could not leave the deadly nexus of the Master of darkness's tentacles—they had to stay in the thick of things and mount attacks like that, and Freak knew how to create just a little bit of headway.

The li-tigon's most ideal self for an operation like the one he had in mind was from around the invasion and summary destruction of the Bloody Shadows. He was tough, then, but small and lean enough to dart through the most stubborn of the Master of darkness's attacks—and he was strong enough to, perhaps, cut through the tip of a tentacle or gouge a chunk of flesh out of the Master of darkness's main body.

At the time, that Freak was diving to the side to avoid the powerful downward slash of one of the Master of darkness's outermost tentacles. His range of motion had been concentrated well away from the safer areas closer to the Master of darkness's body, since there, the Master of darkness's attacks were more limited. This contrasted with the more open space at the edges of the Master of darkness's effective range of attack—there, the frighteningly dynamic ends of the Master of darkness's tentacles could strike without warning from almost any angle, and Freak was only a single misstep from falling victim to a dark energy attack.

As the li-tigon prepared to land, he noted the position and orientation of the tentacle that had just failed to pummel him into the ground. He was turning a little too fast on the axis that ran from his head to his tail—and so he flipped over, sideways, and rolled to get back to his feet. This was not an ideal landing; Freak lost speed, but he could manage. Rather than continuing on with the vector of his momentum, however, he turned and ran directly back at the appendage that had just attacked him.

The Master of darkness was only beginning to overcome the momentum of the blow in addition to pulling his tentacle out of the dense, somewhat soggy soil. Clods of dirt and mud fell from the otherwise smooth and flawless surface of his appendage as it was slowly exhumed—but then, Freak jumped directly toward it and got his teeth into one of the hundreds of fist-sized suckers and, cleanly, ripped it off.

The Master of darkness could only respond with utmost aggression to provocation like that.

He was not severely injured, but he was hurt. Seconds after it had lost its connection to the Master of darkness, the chunk of flesh in Freak's jaws turned to ash and disintegrated without ill effect—but the li-tigon barely noticed this. The Master of darkness was pursuing him with not one, but two tentacles.

One chased him from behind and the other sought to grab him about the torso and either throw him out of reality or crush him to death. To evade both attacks at once, Freak could not restrict himself to any given region in the area—he had to move _fast_ and let his brother and other selves get out of the way on their own, if they could.

The tentacle behind him darted through the air, and Freak hoped his calculations had been roughly correct. It would catch up with him in time if he kept running, and that was without taking into account the other tentacle's predictable but regardless deadly attacks—so he had to change the way he was fighting.

When the Master of darkness moved in with his other tentacle, it was with a broad, low sweep that would have taken Freak's head off if it hit. Naturally, the li-tigon jumped very high in order to dodge, and the tentacle behind him followed, of course—and then darted under the sweeping tentacle to follow Freak. The li-tigon had hit the ground and moved backward, under the other tentacle—why he had done this the Master of darkness couldn't think, because now, there were two tentacles not ten feet from him and gaining with every second.

There was no time for the Master of darkness to realize what was going on, however. Before a moment had passed, though, Freak doubled back _again _ and this time he had to rely on faith alone to guide him safely past the two tentacles directly behind him. The li-tigon killed his momentum and backflipped over both of the Master of darkness's tentacles, evading the sweeping appendage by what felt like a hair's breadth—the other tentacle of course, followed without thought and now Freak and his brothers had the Master of darkness where they wanted him: he'd locked up two of his tentacles by intertwining them with one another. Now was their chance to go for debilitating wounds.

They converged on the Master of darkness before he had fully grasped what had happened, and so, each of the li-tigons managed to get at least a chunk of flesh off of him before they were chased away by the reinforcement of additional tentacles. A stubborn few stayed, however, until the very last second—and that was why when they were finished, the two attacked tentacles were only clinging to the Master of darkness by a waist-thick band of flesh.

The ploy had worked well, save for in one way. When the Master of darkness chased away the majority of the li-tigons from the two tentacles that they were attacking, they scattered too readily and too widely. Without realizing it, they had left their other selves without cover and easy targets for a dark energy attack.

The Master of darkness did not hesitate to attempt to level the playing field.

In contrast with the unfocused tendrils that occasionally reached out into the sky, the beams of dark energy that the Master of darkness shot at the li-tigons were linear, cylindrical, and, despite being black—if visible at all—they were extremely vibrant, and encircled by looping bands of additional energy to keep their aim straight and true. There was no dodging them, no blocking, no parrying—they moved at lightspeed, literally, or perhaps even faster than that. Cleaving through the air without effort, each lance met its target.

Half of Freak's and his brother's selves were wiped out before they could realize it. The dark energy overloaded their spirits the moment it came in contact with them—although, for just a moment, each of the li-tigons' iterations were illuminated before being enveloped by a cloud of darkness and vanishing forever.

To be sure, additional iterations of Freak and his brother shortly replaced the ones that had been lost—but that wouldn't be true forever. There was not exactly an infinite amount of additional spirits waiting to be called down every time one of their fellows were killed—each iteration had existed not for an instant, but, rather, for some brief interval of time.

It might take years or more, in the alter-reality in which Freak and his brother faced off against the Master of darkness, but if the Master of darkness could overpower them—eventually, he would kill them all and return to the Forbidden Island a bare second after Freak had left the Nightmare Cave, victorious, weakened, defiant, alive, and hungry.

Freak had no problem with making the sacrifices necessary to win. But he could not let himself or his brother be slaughtered without gaining anything—that was a sure way to fall into a dark, inescapable pattern of constant destruction and death.

When the li-tigons were at full reserves again, they were far more careful to ensure that the Master of darkness didn't get a clear shot at them. There were no immediate opportunities; the Master of darkness could no longer regenerate, but he bunched his injured tentacles up at the base, so that the fleshy, exposed part was protected and the very active ends were free to lash out at the li-tigons whenever they got the chance to.

For the moment, it seemed that both opposing forces were simply testing one another out. No significant gains were made, but now and then, the Master of darkness would prod, just a little, to see if there was some way he could coral the li-tigons or get them away from him so that he could attack without fear. Of course, every time he got close to isolating one or a few of the felines, they saw what he was doing and scattered.

They weren't simply reacting, however. Some of them would take risks, now and then, to try to lead the Master of darkness into literally tying himself up again—but their foe had learned, and was far more conservative, now, preferring to break off offensives when his tentacles got a little too involved with one another. Of course, this lost him time and mobility—and so Freak and his brother were able to take off several suckers on one tentacle in particular—gains, but insignificant gains, to be fair.

The battle was not at a stalemate: Freak and his brother would, in time, seriously injure the Master of darkness. From there, they would find a way past his last defenses and end him. The Master of darkness had to seriously change the rules of the engagement to avoid being trapped in a corner from which he would not escape. He was trapped in this form, however—so his options were limited.

A change in tactics was in order. The Master of darkness brought his tentacles quite close to his body, launching attacks only with the outermost tips. His range was extremely limited and he could not pursue targets to any degree at all—but the fleshy, vulnerable bases of his tentacles were defended by hundreds of pounds of thick flesh.

Better yet, Freak and his brother could not possibly restrict their positions to those where the Master of darkness's own body prevented him from lashing out with dark energy. There simply wasn't the space to do so without being unable to prevent the Master of darkness from simply wrapping his many limbs around the felines and crushing them to death without worry or even much effort.

At least now, as the li-tigons were vaporized, repeatedly, they were able to exist for some seconds, first.

The Master of darkness forced dark energy down from the glowing, pulsating ball in the sky rapidly, at least once every other second. The repeated discharges threatened to alter the metaphysical rules that governed even the alter-reality in which he and the li-tigons existed—but until then, the stench of ozone was in the air. The Master of darkness's deadly lances were not entirely non-physical, it seemed, and their effects were felt in the land as well as the air.

The sky began to blacken as the minutes dragged on. Freak and his brother were unable to do anything to defend themselves—was this how things would end, after a hundred years of pain and constant defeat? Every time one of Freak's or his brother's previous selves would enter the world, the Master of darkness would target and eliminate it in a second with either a blast of dark energy or a conservatively applied loop of waist-thick tentacle—they had no opportunities and panic was starting to rise. The Master of darkness started to laugh, and, in this form, his mirth was low, reverberating, omnipresent.

The Master of darkness would not be baited into overconfidence. As a somewhat desperate ruse, two of the li-tigons' selves raced around the Master of darkness, one after the other, in an attempt to get him to use two adjacent tentacles at once and thereby give the rest of the felines a place to attack. It didn't work, though—they were crushed one after the other when it was convenient the Master of darkness.

Evil would not be defeated—Freak and his brother were. Perhaps not yet in fact, but in their minds, they were. Everything they tried—every trick, every ploy, every attack was crushed before it could truly begin. Soon, the Master of darkness's black energy assaults had gouged deep, acrid-smelling trenches—Freak and his brother couldn't even move freely. What attempts they could make, when they weren't simply dodging—unsuccessfully—were increasingly frail and pathetic.

What was the point, really? Freak and his brother were being massacred, by that point. The Master of darkness had dominated them both entirely; they could no longer touch the vicious beast. All logic pointed to surrender—that way, at least, they would have some certainty about their fate. Maybe if they stood still for the Master of darkness, they would be killed painlessly.

Maybe that was all that was left. Maybe evil was supposed to win—maybe the only thing to do for those unfortunate enough to live in such dark times was to square their debts as best they could and wait for—or hasten their own deaths. Freak and his brother were in a position where it rather seemed that it would be best to do the latter. What was there to gain by fighting against that which could not be overcome?...

Freak had had a—perhaps not a long life, but a busy one. He'd seen a lot—and he'd done a lot. He'd been to lands across the sea and he'd fought enemies as subtle as hatred and prejudice and as blatant as pure, outright evil.

He'd never really lost before. He'd never really abandoned his morals, either. Everything that he'd done in his life that seemed cruel was, at the very least, necessary. He'd caused a lot of pain—a lot of death—but he had never acted in hatred or malice. He had only ever fought for his own life or the lives of others.

Why had he done that?

It was hard to answer that question now, when it seemed that the full forces of the universe had been brought to bear down against him. Was it because of morality? If so, then his actions were pointless—soon, morality itself would cease to exist. Was it because of love? If so, then his actions were pointless—soon, everyone he loved would cease to exist, if they hadn't already.

Freak had never been in such a dark place before in his life. Not even the Nightmare Cave could compare to the position he was in now—he was dying and besides the pain, and terror, and guilt, Freak no longer knew the meaning of his life. He'd lost what it meant to be alive—he'd lost his motivation and, in a way, he'd lost himself.

If Freak's existence required the existence of any one body, he would have been dead long before. Since his spirit seemed to shift from one body to the other, however, he was able to experience the sense of dying over, and over, and over, and over again, each time with increasing shame and guilt. He knew he could do better, he knew he _should_ do better—or at least, he thought he did. Now, Freak didn't know what he knew.

To assist in the li-tigon's downward spiral into death, defeat, and, probably, Hell, he began to experience something rather like insanity. Images flashed before his eyes without any apparent order or pattern while voices screaming from great distance shouted incomprehensible noise into his ears. He tried to escape and run away, but before he could get far, he was fried, or crushed, or strangled, or broken. His body became sluggish and useless as confusion and fear paralyzed him—he saw everything all at once and yet he saw none of what he needed to see to make something of his life. He saw himself as a cub, struggling to stay alive; himself as a young adult, struggling to stay alive; himself two months ago doing the same and himself one month ago doing the same and himself earlier that day doing the same—

And then Freak finally understood what he had to do to win.

* * *

(e^(i*pi) = -1, therefore God exists.)


	34. Nexus VI: The Last Lesson

Lion King: The Freak

Chapter 34: Nexus VI: The Last Lesson

* * *

(Hey all—happy Chanukah, Diwali, Ramazzan, Christmas, and all other holidays I've forgotten to mention. Perhaps this is a bad place to do so, but I'd like to throw out the idea of giving a small cut of your income to some worthy cause—any worthy cause.

Anyway, just as Kanye let Taylor finish, I hope that you too will let me finish.)

* * *

Beings came into the world—they were born, they grew, they got old and then they died. Most died the same way; most were simply differentiated based on how they _lived_. Some, like Mohatu, became permanent beacons in the world or the sky for their sons' sons to look up to and wonder and learn from and emulate—but most simply moved on.

Freak would likely be no different. He was born, after all—he'd lived for some time—and, then, one day, he too would die.

But every part of his life—practically every second spent awake or asleep shared one vital characteristic.

Freak was always fighting.

Or, at least, he was preparing to fight. Even the long-lost days of simplicity, before the Pride Lands, morality, or any significant emotions had entered his life were constantly spent in a physical struggle for survival or the mental preparation to do the same. Even when he'd been staying with the Dark One, he'd been stabilizing himself, mentally and spiritually, so that when the time came, he could fight and win against his twin.

Now that he thought of things in that way… he understood what he had to do. He understood everything more clearly than he ever had—he understood himself and his life, and he understood the purpose of his existence.

The conclusions were grim, but Freak didn't doubt them. He wouldn't allow transient emotions to prevent him from seeing the truth—not anymore. Now, his eyes were open, and he would never, ever let them close again.

Everyone he'd known in his life, everyone that he had come to hold feelings for—they were all distractions. Family and friends existed on the periphery of Freak's being… and so did those closer still than that. Freak existed to fight—everything else that happened around him only served to show him what had to be done.

Freak had learned his lesson, or so he thought. To make it permanent, though, the li-tigon had to put it into words.

Reality returned.

Freak had been moving forward, blindly—but he stopped in his tracks, so that when the Master of darkness slashed downward with the tip of one tentacle, Freak was not decapitated. The pressure waves that ran through the ground and air alike made the li-tigon blink—but he felt no fear, just a grim sense of certainty—and purpose. The feeling of purpose was strong as well.

Before the Master of darkness could follow up with his attack, Freak simply jumped forward, taking what remained of his momentum and climbed up the monolithic side of the appendage before him. Extending his claws as he did so, the li-tigon caused superficial damage to the Master of darkness's tentacle—but he was not considering that, mostly. The majority of his attention was focused on what he needed to say to galvanize his mind, from then and forever after.

Freak hit the ground and rolled to the side to avoid another attack. As he came to his feet, snarling, hungry for his enemy's blood, with a mix of dirt and compressed air rising into the air around him, he turned his head to the side and looked into the Master of darkness's eyes.

Time slowed down.

Freak ran—he felt every grain of dirt under his paws. He felt every muscle in his form successively contract and expand; he felt every bone in his body take the stress of motion without complaint and he felt his heart and lungs and liver and brain work, perfectly, to allow him to defeat the goliath in front of him. He ducked about a fraction of a second before one of the Master of darkness's tentacles raced forward in an attempt to wrap around his neck—and he said the last lesson he'd ever need to learn out loud.

"Never stop fighting."

Freak was no longer desperate or uncertain of himself; he was confident in his abilities but he wouldn't overestimate them in the slightest. He respected the Master of darkness insofar that he recognized him as the deadliest threat he'd ever face in his life—but that didn't scare him. Nothing could scare him now that he realized his place in the universe.

Freak's brother hadn't been doing as badly as he was, but he, too, had fallen into something of a pit that was difficult to escape. But when Freak rose up—his brother did as well.

Tactics were employed, then, that would not have worked if the li-tigons were fighting with a different mentality. They fought harder, quicker, faster, stronger—they fought on their terms, refusing to let the Master of darkness control the pace of the engagement. To be sure, they lost many of their selves—but their gains rapidly made up for every inch that the Master of darkness had been given.

Their aggression was frightening to watch. Without any sort of trepidation, the li-tigons sliced the Master of darkness's flesh into stringy shreds whenever he gave them the opportunity to. There was regard for safety, to be sure, but not much—they knew that they were going to get hurt and even killed en masse, but they also knew that they had to keep the pace of the fight hectic in order to prevent the Master of darkness from regaining control of things.

Blood had been flowing from the onset of the fight. Now, it began to coat the ground in coagulating, maroon pools—it was enough to factor into Freak's operations. But it changed nothing of significance—Freak and his brother were dominating the fight.

At one point in the battle, Freak made a minor miscalculation and launched himself into the air to avoid the sweeping remains of one of the Master of darkness's most vicious tentacles. He did so without regard for his brother or their other selves—and for that reason, the li-tigon found himself flying directly toward a somewhat younger iteration of his brother.

There was nothing they could do midair to prevent collision, and, somehow, the Master of darkness saw this and reacted. As the li-tigons continued on their inexorable paths toward one another, he unfurled one tentacle, fully, and moved to launch them both out of the universe in a single, devastating blow.

Freak saw concern on his brother's face—then intuition—and he knew why. The Master of darkness's tentacle was still racing toward them, but they wouldn't be ended so easily.

The brothers reached out toward one another and toward the end of their high, arcing trajectories, they both shunted their weights to their relative right sides. Their paws made contact, then—but glided past one another until the brothers had hold of one anothers' forelegs.

The momentums of the flying bodies were not concurrent—this, a moment was created. The li-tigons spun around in midair, for about ninety degrees, before they released another, launching themselves in opposite directions.

The Master of darkness's tentacle came down through the space that they'd just occupied, then, moving so fast that Freak could see a slipstream of air trailing the massive appendage. It missed, though—but the last-ditch save wasn't perfect. Freak's brother had been thrown to the outer fringes of reality, where he could easily be targeted by a jolt of dark energy—and Freak was thrown directly at the Master of darkness's head.

It seemed, for a moment, that he would not clear the constant flux of dark energy rising from the ground all around the Master of darkness. But, in the end, he did—by a margin too small to easily describe. A piece of paper would not have fit between the li-tigon's body and the outermost fringes of darkness—but a piece of tracing paper might.

There hadn't been time for Freak to plan things out, but he then found himself in a fairly interesting position. His momentum was great, and his projected trajectory would carry him directly over the Master of darkness's center of mass—there was no time to drop down on the Master of darkness's head and bring the pain, and Freak couldn't change his bearing midair. Still, he could reach out, extend his claws—and rake them directly across the Master of darkness's many eyes.

Freak continued on his path, then, using the rotational momentum induced by the attack to flip around, carrying himself safely across the dark energy fields so that he could land on his feet. He'd done damage, and he knew it—the Master of darkness's form cracked, significantly, as a torrent of suckered tentacles chased after him.

There was, of course, no avoiding an onslaught like that. Freak was killed, then, in a particularly brutal manner—the Master of darkness took hold of all of his limbs and his head, and tail, and then pulled while another tentacle crushed his torso into a paste.

The loss was worth it. The rest of the li-tigons swarmed the Master of darkness, then—and they received their first major victory. One of the beast's most weakened tentacles was finally severed entirely, not very far from the base. For a moment, it writhed around on the ground—before collapsing on the molecular scale, disintegrating into dust and smoke.

The Master of darkness used the base of the adjacent tentacle to apply pressure to the wound—but gallons of blood leaked regardless, and now, another one of his limbs were tied up. His range of options had been decreased, significantly—so now, of course, the li-tigons had to rethink their strategy. As he was worn down, the Master of darkness would become increasingly likely to get creative, out of necessity, and play to his strengths—or, as another possibility, he would simply get hasty and wild.

Either way, Freak had to adjust the manner in which he fought. For a moment, he simply pushed and prodded the Master of darkness—metaphorically—to get a feel for how the fight would change.

Annoyingly, Freak quickly realized that the Master of darkness simply had too many tentacles for the loss of a single one to mean very much. The way he fought didn't alter in the slightest—Freak and his brother were still dancing this way and that intermittently while applying either constant or increasing pressure on their foe. Now, it seemed that the Master of darkness was trapped in a rut which he could not escape—but the li-tigons were neither overconfident nor humorous in the slightest. In their eyes existed no emotion but the deep, dark lust for bloodshed.

The fight continued without stop, then, for an immeasurable amount of time. Freak didn't register much of it—he took ever moment as it came and refused to commit the pain and agony and terror of the minutes before to memory when it came time to take a risk or make a sacrifice. The li-tigon's face was grim, the entire time—and so was his brother's. That the felines had one another was probably the one thing that kept them both sane and in fighting condition—otherwise the madness, the might of their enemy, and the way physics themselves seemed to change in time with the infrequent discharges of dark energy might simply overwhelm them.

More tentacles were removed. The Master of darkness fought on, however, and soon, Freak and his brother saw why their enemy wasn't panicking.

They might take his tentacles—but even supposing things got to a point where he was left with one or no tentacles, there would be no reason for him to hold back from razing the entire area with constant waves of dark energy. All that was left to wonder, then, was whether the Master of darkness would bleed out before Freak and his brother ran out of past selves to call to the fight.

Freak saw, then, how to finish the fight, now that approximately half of the Master of darkness's tentacles were gone. He looked at his brother—he didn't say a word—and then he kept moving.

He kept moving without attacking.

The Master of darkness could not close his wounds, and every time he tried to, or coagulation became imminent, either Freak or his brother would open the injury back up and widen it. In this manner, the Master of darkness began to lose the finite amount of blood within his veins.

He was bleeding out.

Soon, his frustration became clear. His limbs, of course, weren't remotely sluggish or slow, yet, but by then, dozens if not hundreds of gallons of thick, dark red gore had spilled from his injuries. He realized that Freak and had no intentions to remove any more limbs—and the li-tigons must have found some sort of pattern, or something, that allowed them to know exactly where and how the Master of darkness was going to strike. He hadn't touched a hair on any of them for some time now.

Freak knew that it wouldn't be long before the Master of darkness risked blasting off his own limbs with dark energy—but he made it clear that there would be no way to attack him or his brother without loss. The li-tigons remained very close to the massive bases of the Master of darkness's tentacles, so that when they were chased, their enemy often nearly tied himself up—they always got away. They always got away with moments to spare.

A distant humming was heard, then, and it didn't stop. Freak and his brother ignored it—it signified nothing, as far as they could see, and there was no time for idle curiosity. The battle was not yet won, after all—and the Master of darkness was calling on the final reserves of his energy in a final attempt to push back.

Darkness had taken over the once bright white surroundings. The ground was now scarred and scorched and the sky was summarily dark. But Freak and his brother noticed none of these things—their minds were both focused on one, single goal, and that was to bring about the death of the Master of darkness through whatever means necessary. They no longer felt pain or fear—it was doubtful that they could even comprehend the concept of either of those emotions at that point. All that existed in the li-tigons' worlds were themselves and the Master of darkness

Madness arose as the violence continued. The loud, metallic humming the li-tigons had begun to hear quite some time ago had increased in volume, and now, it was impossible to ignore. Was the Master of darkness causing it?... that seemed likely. He was now bleeding profusely; he was not able to get an upper hand on the two brothers, who were now fighting with more aggression and power than they ever had before.

There was so, so, so much blood. All at once, Freak became aware of it—and the sheer goriness of what he was doing.

He immediately returned to the task at hand. Morality did not invalidate the brutality of his task, because there was no other way to do it. The Master of darkness had to be killed, regardless of the fact that for the past several moments, he had been begging for mercy, for a chance to talk—even crying for it.

But the time for negotiation had long passed. Among the Master of darkness's final acts of desperation were indiscriminate blasts of dark energy, most of which missed—although some killed off a few li-tigons, in addition to striking the ground just a little too close to his own final defenses—and somehow contradicting them.

The waves of dark energy rising from Hell itself to protect the Master of darkness had been extinguished, at least in one area. Now, there was nothing to prevent Freak and his brother from moving forward and finishing their task.

They wasted no time.

Consider the terror, and the violence, and the pain, and the screaming, and the blood that was created in those final few moments of the battle. Freak and his brother, occupying two of their oldest bodies—in terms of both physical years and the amount of time they'd spent in existence in this soon-to-end alter-reality—had raced forward with paws bloodied to the shoulder and with faces steeped in complete—not rage, not exactly—but _purpose_.

The Master of darkness's eyes were quickly disabled, with one lone exception. That meant that he could watch, sketchily, as the brothers tore him apart with their claws, striking back, and forth, their manes tangled and wild. In the end, he was reduced to simply drawing his remaining, limp tentacles close in a pathetic attempt to defend himself, while the ball of dark energy he'd once intended to use as his primary weapon contorted and rolled, dozens of feet above the ground—useless, pointless, hopeless.

He was reduced to begging, then, and pathetically attempting to crawl away. His limbs, however, were starting to collapse under their own weight and lack of structure—he was immobile, and that meant that he had to watch, static, as Freak drew back his paw and then lashed out—

* * *

Blood had been spilled before in the Pride Lands. Scar's reign was nothing if not brutal—and the battle that ended it involved dozens if not hundreds of fatalities. Beyond that, of course, there was the brief and vicious engagement Freak fought against his would-be assassins, and any number of smaller engagements against miscellaneous invaders of various species and numbers.

Nothing anyone could have imagined compared to what happened that day.

Everything was broken, or burned, or destroyed. The rivers no longer flowed with clear, cool water—the forces of darkness had polluted them, turning them black and thick and hot. And although all the fighting had taken place along a rough path from the northwestern borders to Pride Rock, in his malice, the Master of darkness had sent lone runners armed with torches and gasoline to all corners of the Pride Lands.

It wasn't long before the formerly massive bands of grassland and savannah were burning, sending thick black clouds of smoke into the sky. Before the day was halfway done, the Sun was blotted out, and noxious, suffocating ash rained down everywhere, including on Pride Rock itself.

Pride Rock… it was the one structure that was not touched. The forces of darkness tried, many times, to implement explosives of various sorts to bring the monolith down—but somehow, their plans always failed. All other significant features of the landscape, however, were not spared. RPGs blasted quaint oases in the desert into oblivion. Assault rifle fire chopped parts of entire forests into toothpick-sized splinters.

The fighters that remained alive on Pride Rock did not fight out of a desire for glory, or honor, or love, or anything of note anymore. All hope had been crushed—they were barely aware that they were alive anymore. Their immortal selves had been silenced, mostly—their bodies fought on by default, it seemed, because there was nothing else that they could do.

Kifo was still alive, and his weapons still took a heavy toll on the enemy's forces. But they ignored him—their bodies had clogged the Pride Lands beyond any reasonable capacity. They could lose three quarters of their numbers and still have more than enough to completely overwhelm the Pride Landers and then kill Kifo when it was convenient for them.

The demon was in bad shape, but he would not allow himself to die. His body was broken, entire chunks of flesh had been blasted off his frame by shotgun, flamethrower, and grenade alike—but he would not collapse. He wouldn't die—not until Kochai was safe.

How he functioned, he didn't know, but somehow he still stood with his machinegun at his hip, firing almost continuously. When his weapon overheated, he replaced it—and when too many hostiles went after the one he would not allow to die, he lobbed grenades. When they got close to him, he swung his sword, madly, cleaving through bone as well as flesh.

He screamed—mostly incoherently—but sometimes, he would call to Kochai and demand to know why she had put herself in danger, why she risked death and defeat for apparently no reason whatsoever.

She tried to answer him, at times. But she never got the chance to complete her words—there was no time to avoid the grasp of darkness while speaking as well.

One runner managed to pick Kochai off the ground. The moment he set his hand on her, Kifo's heart froze—and he lifted his machinegun to his shoulder and aimed carefully, willing time to slow down.

It did not.

Regardless, he didn't have a choice. The man's head danced in his reticle, for a moment, while into his hand entered a dagger—Kifo fired, then, and again, Kochai was free.

But things were not going well. Kochai was attacked, immediately, by three dogs from some distant land to the east, and this time, Kifo couldn't get a clear shot. He couldn't even see Kochai beyond the pile of black flesh—so, with his heart in his mouth, he raced forward before the kitten's terrible screams could be heard.

She fought her way out of that vicious circle, but the blood running down her sides was partially her own. Kifo wouldn't tolerate that—he killed his enemies and then pumped additional bullets into the rotting corpses to make it clear that no one would touch Kochai and have a chance of surviving.

It was, of course, immediately after that that the demon saw his folly. The forces of darkness had lost their patience and had led him into a trap—in his anger, Kifo had failed to realize the obvious ruse, but now, he was surrounded by perhaps two hundred mixed attack groups. Many were armed, but two or three dozen canines formed the inner ring of the circle of forces that had enclosed Kifo and Kochai—snarling and flaring at their targets, they prepared to attack while Kochai searched for a place to hide, although there were none.

She didn't cry, then, but Kifo knew she was tempted. He was sweating, and panting—so he dropped to a knee to give his machinegun a moment to cool and exchange ammunition belts. In this manner, he was given a chance to speak to Kochai, quietly, so that no one else would hear him. The brief moment of privacy left a lot to be desired… but Kifo wasn't complaining. He was lucky to have it as it was.

Of course, Kochai was certain that she was going to be scolded. She deserved it, however, and she knew it—she'd almost certainly condemned herself to death without making the slightest difference in the battle at all, except, perhaps, to make things even harder for Kifo. She was breathing hard, and the few injuries she'd taken were starting to affect her ability to see clearly—so she licked a paw and cleaned her face, briefly, for all the good it would do.

Kifo took his eyes off his enemies, briefly—and looked down at Kochai. He couldn't for long, though, otherwise his distraction would be taken as weakness and he would be attacked with his trousers down.

"Interesting day, eh, Kochai?" the demon said, conversationally. He tilted his head and took in a long, panoramic look at the legions of foes that surrounded him—and grinned a little, slowly getting to his feet. He didn't let the young feline see the flash of absolute malice that crossed his face, then, to tell the enemy forces to keep their distance—at least for the moment.

"I could have done better here and there, I guess," he continued. He charged his machinegun and let the bolt fly forward with a tough, metallic _clack_ and then cracked his neck. "But on the whole, I'm proud of how what I've done. I didn't run away for one thing… and—and maybe I'm being a little arrogant in saying this—but I think that… I did my share. I'm pretty sure that I did my share."

He nodded, then, in an almost solemn manner. Still kneeling, he took in and let out several slow, relaxed breaths, and considered his options—he didn't have many. But, without a thought, he knew that he had to do what he could. So, slowly, the demon stood up and held his weapon at his side, slowly sweeping it across the sea of foes before him. He shut his eyes, briefly—but when he opened them again, they were as determined and malicious as the expression on his face. Kochai would get out of this—his own safety came at a distant second in comparison to the tigress's. Kifo had seen, and done a number of truly brutal things in his brief existence—but he would neither see Kochai die nor would he allow her to do the same. He would fight, and he would almost certainly die to see her live to see at least another day.

"Kochai, if anyone ever wants to know," the demon said, suddenly, without looking down at the kitten, "tell them that… I'm sorry. I've messed up a lot in this life… and I don't think I can do enough today to make up for it." When he finished speaking his mouth was dry, although he didn't understand why. Swallowing brought the demon no respite—there was only one thing that he could do that would.

He didn't wait any longer. If he did, the forces of darkness would attack, and Kochai had no chance if Kifo fought on any terms but his own. So, with nothing beside Kochai's safety in mind, Kifo opened his mouth and screamed a long, wordless scream, as his finger clamped down on the trigger of his weapon and didn't release.

* * *

It was over. The Master of darkness, the war, the fight—all of it was over. That previous strike had had a sense of finality about it, and there were no signs of life coming from the Master of darkness's immense, limp form. Resting in pools of his own blood, the adversary had met his end, it seemed, but Freak wasn't going to take any chances. No chances could be taken when it came to things like this—Freak had learned that years ago, and the Pride Landers should have learned that generations ago.

He kept fighting—well, perhaps not literally. Freak kept attacking, tearing up the dead body of his enemy with all of his selves. So single-minded was his purpose that he didn't realize why he was having so much trouble moving around from one sedate chunk of flesh to the other—the battle had ended, and, so, the _world_ was ending.

The bubble of dark energy, still hovering dozens of yards above the fighting, had rapidly grown unstable. Gyrating unpredictably, it threatened to tear itself apart—as it was, it was lashing out, constantly, with increasingly violent and unfocused black rays. The ground was shaking, or collapsing, while whatever bounded reality overhead started to fall apart, sending jagged crystalline shards down at the two brothers.

But Freak kept fighting. That was all he did, after all—it was all he knew how to do and it was all he'd ever known how to do. It was what he was born to do, wasn't it?... the li-tigon didn't hold back in the slightest, although, in moments, he'd reduced the Master of darkness's remains to little more than thigh-sized chunks of flesh and liquid gore.

He would have gone further—infinitely further, at least until the end of the world finally completed and locked Freak to whatever fate followed—but his brother was there. His brother was there, and he had the guts and sheer power needed to wrap a foreleg around Freak's oldest body's neck and pull.

At first, the debilitating chokehold was interpreted as an attack, and Freak fought back hard. He struggled, kicked, and tried to get his chin in between his attacker's foreleg and his neck—and that ended the li-tigon's tunnel vision. He blinked—and saw what had happened.

There was no need for Freak to tell his brother that he was back—the other li-tigon sensed it, somehow, and let go instantly—and not a moment too soon, either. A particularly large fragment, colored like jade and shaped like a javelin, plunged down from the sky and shattered into thousands of brightly-colored pieces that peppered the surrounding area.

The li-tigons managed to avoid damage—and that was because, Freak realized, their other selves had vanished, at some point, presumably returning to the Spirit World. He'd flipped backward to get out of the way, and that gave him the opportunity to look down and see that wherever the shrapnel hit the ground, it ate into the ground and dripped liquid into an infinite, starry abyss below.

They needed to leave immediately—Freak hit the ground, then, and rapidly searched for anything like an exit, anything at all. But there was nothing—the ground was shaking so much, by then, that it was difficult to maintain a given position for more than a few seconds. There were also fewer positions left to be held, because the falling sky was continuing to destroy the ground underfoot—fragments of reality danced everywhere, flying through the rapidly thinning atmosphere before vanishing into endless oblivion.

Freak felt doubt, for a fraction of a second—then he banished it from his consciousness. He tracked his brother, for a moment, on the far side of the limited universe in which they existed—he was doing all right, for the time being, but they both had to leave immediately.

And then Freak saw how they would do it.

The compressed ball of black energy the Master of darkness had created had lowered, slowly, and grown in size. It was still horribly unstable—it pulsated and seemed to dance in time with the jolts of lightning that seemed to refract around inside of it—but every now and then, just for a heartbeat, Freak could swear he could see into it. He didn't dare judge what he saw, however, beyond accepting that he saw the Pride Lands—and, perhaps, other places as well.

Maybe there was some other way.

Freak looked back, however, and saw that not only was the world collapsing, it was also being squashed by some inexorable external force. He wasn't sure how he could see them, but he was sure they were there—gargantuan, immovable walls surrounding the area, slowly moving inward, focused directly on where that immense, throbbing ball was.

There was no other option. Freak had no idea what he was doing—but he never really did understand things until long after the fact, if ever. A thousand mysteries had been unlocked that day—some might be solved, eventually, but Freak was certain that this one, like so many others, would forever remain a secret.

The li-tigon took in a deep breath. He looked past the dark ball and made eye contact with his brother, just for a heartbeat—and then stared into the darkness before him.

A plank in logic broke, and the universe began to twist and snap. It was at that time Freak and his brother both began to race forward, kicking back against the ground behind them and stretching out to reach their destination before it was forever pulled out of reach—

* * *

There was a collision. It was painful, but not very—he'd had much, much worse in his life. Rarely, though, had he been so disoriented. The only time that immediately came to mind that compared was the period immediately following the initiation of his exile—but even then, he knew that he was in the physical realm.

Now, he was less certain. He'd never seen any environment like this in his life, not by a long shot.

These were not the Southern Rocklands, where infinite spikes of igneous rock clawed the ground open from below the surface. Nor was it like the former Shadowlands, now a practical moonscape—it was vaguely similar to steppes that Raj had referred to and had even shown pictures of, so long ago—he said that his ancestors had come from such an area, where massive, sedimentary slabs of stone had jutted up from the ground hundreds of years ago, covered by occasional trees and plantlife almost as an afterthought.

Maybe Freak was back in Hindustan—but he doubted it.

It was too… he didn't know how to think of it. Everything was too familiar. This landscape was dry, although not unpleasantly so, and there was a stiff, somewhat bracing breeze that kept things cool despite the bright sunlight. To be sure, there wasn't quite enough infrastructure in the area for a big cat to make his home there—unless, perhaps, there was enough space for him to be a permanent nomad.

Freak blinked. He turned to the side and looked down and the, all at once, everything came rushing back—the Master of darkness—the battle—the war—the Pride Landers.

His brother had returned to the world unconscious, it seemed, so Freak made it his first objective to bring the other li-tigon back to his senses. It didn't take long—a brief but insistent nudging to the other male's snout made him wake with a start—then get to his feet.

The brothers made eye contact for a moment but didn't share a word. Both were grim-faced, then, as they turned around, to the southeast.

There were mountains, or at least a series of steep hills that impeded the brothers' views. The merger of rock and limited plantlife seemed to continue, however, but that didn't mean anything. What was of significance was the discoloration in the air, barely visible over the peak of the nearest hill—Freak's nose twitched, briefly, before he realized what he was smelling.

Smoke. Ashes. Blood. Decay.

There was no doubt in the li-tigon's mind, by then, that he was in what had once been the Forbidden Island. The earth there had been overturned, it seemed, but the same was apparently untrue for the Pride Lands—no, that was an unnecessarily negative thought. Maybe the smell was the only remnant of the battle that existed—maybe the Pride Lands had been restored, or even improved.

No. No, that wasn't what had happened at all. Even as Freak began to run, with his brother at his side, he knew deep in his gut that the Pride Lands had not recovered from the war—and that they would not recover, either, for a long, long time.

But he had to see it for himself.

Freak crossed valleys etched into the ground by rivers of ice-cold, clear water. He swam through them with neither trepidation nor awe. He climbed over peaks so steep and foreboding that it taxed his formidable agility to stay on his feet. He passed over them with neither interest nor fear. He and his brother made their way across miles of open, uncharted, unclaimed territory with no emotion apart from deep, gnawing, curiosity—and perhaps just a breath of dark anticipation, as well. Bodies awaited them—there was no denying that at all.

At one point, the hills did not end, and Freak and his brother had to spend several long minutes climbing over the treacherous peaks, where the air was so thin that it was hard to breathe—it was a slight annoyance, but nothing more. The li-tigons' only interest was in the Pride Lands and what had happened there.

Finally, the difficult terrain ended, giving way to a brief, green plain that quickly segued into the Forbidden River. And there, beyond that dangerous water boundary—the Pride Lands.

Once Freak saw his homeland, he stopped in his tracks. A moment later, his brother did as well.

They were halfway down a particularly rocky hill, then, and the crumbling landmass around them made it difficult to maintain a single position for any amount of time. The brothers did it, though, even as wind ruffled their pristine, sleek coats—they were too shocked by what was in front of them to do anything but stare with their hearts hammering in their chests. No amount of destruction and death either of them had ever seen in their lives could have prepared them for this.

* * *

"Coming back to see my home… I'd expected… it to be in… in better condition. When I crossed the border into the Pride Lands, I… didn't realize it. I didn't know I was home until I was miles across the border…"

Even now, the memory was painful. He had turned to the side and raised a paw to his mouth, for a moment, before giving the thick auburn mass of his mane a brief shake. The nighttime zephyrs were sporadic but comforting; they carried with them cold air from the northwest—and these were the days when the areas to the northwest of the Pride Lands were something out of sight and out of mind.

The two of them were alone—everyone else was back at Pride Rock, they were just wrapping up a final, routine patrol in the far southeast to ensure that their territory remained their own. It was minutes before that the Lion King had decided to talk to his cousin in private—a calm, man-to-man chat about… life, really—and emotion. Freak still didn't seem to have much of that, after all.

Simba, then, was a lot different than how he would become in the months to follow. The Lion King had never been remotely overweight, but he wasn't almost unhealthily skinny, reduced to flesh stretched taught over his bones without an ounce of extra body fat on his frame—then, his mane was thick and bright, not somewhat thin and dull as it had become from months of constant stress.

Back then, it could honestly be said that the Lion King was happy, and content with the way his life was going.

Lost in thought, for a moment, Simba had failed to realize that his cousin wasn't sure how to respond to a statement like that. He smiled, briefly, and looked at the soil beneath his paws, briefly. It had taken time, perhaps two or so weeks, for the Pride Lands to return to the state he remembered it being in as a cub—that had been a difficult two weeks for the Lion King, but, shortly, it had passed.

After all, Simba thought, this land was built into his blood, wasn't it? Mohatu, it was said, was descended directly from the Spirits themselves, when they had seen the Pride Lands and the potential it had within it. The Pride Lands couldn't take any sort of abuse without change, it seemed—but, in time, they would always recover. That was the nature of the land, Simba thought—and for that reason, he looked up at his cousin and smiled.

Freak hadn't understood the gesture at the time. Months later, it still made no sense to him whatsoever.

* * *

Simba had returned to a desolate, arid wasteland when he had come home to the Pride Lands. Compared to the place Freak was returning to, the Pride Lands immediately after Scar's reign had come to a fiery, violent ending formed paradise on Earth. Even the day before, after months of being overtaxed from feeding so many lions and suffering from the constant oppression of evil, the Pride Lands were a beautiful, wonderful place to live—it was hard to conceive that in such a short period of time, things had gotten so shockingly terrible.

Everywhere Freak looked, fires burned. The entire land had been blackened; every river polluted; every forest devastated; every large geographic structure blown apart with explosive or otherwise demolished. Smoke rose into the air, still, although there was no indication that combat continued—it was as if the land itself was dying, although that couldn't possibly be so.

Rather than looking at the Pride Lands as a whole, however, Freak looked at individual regions—case studies, in a fashion, of a larger phenomenon. His eyes, gunmetal in color and as sharp and accurate as a hawk's, zoomed in on features distant and barely recognizable, although he'd spent months of his life getting to know every tree in the Pride Lands. He saw nothing green, nothing living—and that was before he took in the panoramic view.

He should have braced himself, because when he looked at his homeland, the land he'd fought for and nearly died for, the land whose spirit was part of his, it felt like he'd been hit in the gut with a sledgehammer. Freak gasped, almost audibly, and nearly fell forward—he caught himself, though that didn't stop the sensation of unpredictable, nauseating motion he felt. The Pride Lands had been more or less razed to the ground; they wouldn't be able to support any significant animal or plant life for years, at _best_.

Destruction, death, and decay were the only things Freak saw. There was no life and no hope—not even when the li-tigon focused on Pride Rock itself. Had anyone survived?... he didn't know. He didn't know. But he seriously doubted it.

He had been slow to kill the Master of darkness—going beyond that, he had been slow to get to the Master of darkness. Everything that went wrong that day—all of it was his fault. He should have said something motivational in the morning, he should have had a better battle plan, he should have positioned Kifo there, and the hyenas there, and then he should have done this, that, and the other thing.

Freak was used to having blood on his paws, but rarely before did he feel the guilt of having innocent blood on his paws. For a moment, the amount of violence that had been done that he could have prevented nearly overwhelmed him—but he managed to control himself. Barely.

Freak released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He was very tempted to just vanish, forever, so that everyone assumed that he'd just died along with the Master of darkness—at least that way, he'd have the death of a martyr. If he went back, he'd be blamed for everything wrong that had happened that day, and rightly so…

But he had to go. He had to see who had lived and who hadn't. For that reason, Freak looked at his brother, briefly, then back at the Pride Lands.

"Come with me," the li-tigon murmured. "No one will harm you. There's something I need to see…" Freak paused, for a moment, as if he had something else to say—but he started to move again a second later, taking off at near full speed down the sheer mountainside.

Bits of broken rock displaced by the li-tigons' motion followed them. Dust rose into the air behind them as well, so that their movements could be seen from quite a ways off without difficulty despite the fact that they were in the shadows of the mountain range behind them.

They would have been easy to see from some hundreds of yards into the Pride Lands. From the edge of the Forbidden Island, they were in plain view.

Freak's attention was centered completely on the Pride Lands, and for that reason, he didn't notice two small presences some yards to the northwest of the Forbidden River until he within a hundred yards of them. And the moment Freak noticed them, he felt the slightest bit of relief—at least Usiku and Nala were alive. At least two of the Pride Lands hadn't met their ends that day.

As Freak slowed down to approach, he saw that both of the other two looked shocked, or confused—as if they were sure that something was seriously, severely impossible about what they were seeing. And then Freak remembered—his brother was with him.

For just a moment, a torrent of questions arouse in the li-tigon's mind. He had so much to ask his brother, so much to tell—but that could wait until later. He'd have a lot of time to ask and tell his brother everything he ever wanted to, later. For now, there were some things—just a few things—that needed to be done.

Freak wasn't sure what expression he wore, then, but he was fairly sure that it didn't matter. He got to within five yards of Usiku and Nala—his brother had dropped back to watch from a greater distance. Everyone was a threat, after all, and nothing Freak or anyone else could say would change that.

"Nala. Usiku," Freak said. He wasn't sure if he was saying that to get their attention or acknowledge them—perhaps the answer was somewhere in between the two seemingly discrete options. Even as he spoke, the li-tigon circled the two Pride Landers, making for certain that yes, they were, in fact, completely alright. Usiku was still missing a limb, of course, but nothing could chance that.

Nala was the first to look away from Freak's brother. She seemed relieved to see Freak, and genuinely happy, as well—but that didn't change Freak's expression. It didn't make him smile; somehow, he knew that it didn't.

"Shujaa—"

"That's not my name anymore," Freak said. After that brief statement left his mouth—he blinked. When had his voice become so gruff and curt?... he hadn't heard himself speak in such a tone for years, since when he was still new to the Pride Lands.

Nala, of course, reeled from the verbal attack. Her smile faltered, but after a moment, she simply nodded, and continued as if nothing unusual had happened. Usiku was still staring at Freak's brother as if he was a ghost.

"Thank the Spirits that you're alive… and that you killed the Master of darkness. I'm so glad to see you again…"

She meant it, she really did. Freak's only reaction was a curt nod, however. He looked around, for a moment, and then jerked his head to the hills behind him. Nala had been in the world when Freak was not—did she know what had happened to the Forbidden Island? Freak turned back to the lioness to ask, but before he did, she answered.

"I can't explain what happened," Nala murmured. She now looked more confused than anything else, or awed—she looked past Freak at the foreboding mountains and shook her head. "It was so quick… I was just waking up when it happened." She swallowed. "The ground shook… Usiku and I started to run; we didn't know what else to do. ..It didn't really matter, because we were just… sort of pushed away to where we are now."

She gave her head an irritated shake as she thought about the recent, disturbing memory for just a moment. The event was so massive that simply trying to wrap her mind around it was causing Nala to question even basic things, like if the ground beneath her feet was stable then… and the answer to that question, probably, was no. She was, after all, still firmly within the boundaries of the Forbidden Island, no matter how scenic and idle it seemed now.

Freak was staring at Nala, although he wasn't sure why. Did he doubt her truthfulness? No, that couldn't be it—he'd known her for quite some time, and she'd always been honest and sincere… and yet, he couldn't take her words at face value. The ability to simply trust the lioness and to take her words at face value… that had died in him, very recently.

Freak ignored that revelation for the moment. He had more important things to worry about.

"We're going back to the Pride Lands," he said curtly. "My brother and me. Stay with Usiku—help him across the Forbidden River if he needs it." He paused, then, as if he had something more to say—but Freak took one look at the shocked expression on Nala's face when he'd revealed the identity of the other li-tigon and decided that it was time to go. He was tired of talking.

Without another word, Freak started to move again. He heard his brother follow, shortly—and as they approached the Forbidden River, he also hear Usiku call after him.

"Freak—your brother? How is that possible? …Freak?"

There was no answer. Freak simply shut his eyes and then leaped into the air—a moment later, he plunged through the surface of the Forbidden River and began to swim. The hyena's question rang in his ears, but he didn't open his eyes again until he was back in the Pride Lands.

* * *

It hurt to be back. It really did, and not just on an emotional level. It wasn't just that Freak knew what ought to be in the Pride Lands and what was missing and what had been demolished—he actually, physically hurt. There was a deeper connection, it seemed, between himself and the land than he would have guessed—truly he was a son of the Pride Lands.

He ignored that, too.

The ground grasped and groaned under his paws. Even the somewhat arid grasslands in the northwest had been burned, to say nothing of the sporadic bits of forest that dotted the landscape here and there. Most of the landscape had a thick, black char on it, leaving some dry structure in the fibrous mass beneath Freak's paws to make a soft crunching sound with each step the li-tigon took—but a significant amount of the plantlife in the Pride Lands had been burned into shapeless soot and ash.

There were no signs of prey animals whatsoever—none. Usually, perusing in the northwestern sector of the Pride Lands guaranteed an encounter with at least one or two lone gazelle or smaller animals—but Freak sensed nothing. There were no birds; there weren't even any insects—everything had been burned.

Things did not improve as Freak and his brother got close to Pride Rock itself.

Of course, they had not been sprinting the entire way—even the two brothers had limits to their respective physical abilities. Their pace was fast, but not hasty, and for that reason, they both had the presence of mind to think and consider and reflect and ponder. But it wasn't easy to do anything other than look around in shock and pain and wonder, with sickening ferocity, what they had done to deserve to live to see such times.

The brothers passed the defenses that had been set up. At first, they tried to avoid the blood—then, they didn't bother. To keep their paws clean, they'd have to go miles out of the way—or much, much, much more. Deep, purple gore covered the landscape as far as the eye could see—but there were no remains. There were no corpses, no body parts, not even spent casings from firearms.

The Master of darkness's death must have had something to do with it. Freak arrived at this conclusion and did not question it—perhaps for no other reason than that he simply could not stand the idea that some of the forces of darkness might have survived and pulled back. That was impossible; it had to be, after what Freak had gone through.

It wasn't long before they came to the Pride Landers' first position, where they'd fought against the forces of darkness for what seemed like a certain amount of time. Freak could only assume that at first, at least, the invading forces had been thinned by the massive pools of acid he and his brother had passed—that must have been so, because even then, the powerful chemicals were eating into the ground.

This knowledge brought no satisfaction. Even if the deployment of acid had killed off hundreds of invaders, it was barely significant. The Pride Landers had been overwhelmed, and their only real defense against complete death was Freak's timely elimination of the Master of darkness.

Had he succeeded in his objective?... he didn't think so. He really didn't. And the fact that the first remains Freak and his brother came across were those of an eastern Nomad did not seem like a good omen at all.

Darkness everlasting had been defeated along with the Master of darkness. Not everything had been lost, to be sure, but if the Pride Landers' numbers had been thinned to the point that they wouldn't be able to sustain any bloodlines, little had been defended.

At least Pride Rock still stood. At least its presence showed that it had not been taken, which would immediately result in the Pride Landers' defeat. But even looking up at the massive, still noble monolith did not give Freak any sense of achievement. He had failed in so many ways that day—all that could honestly be said of him was that he'd averted the final, worst blows of a disaster even more terrible than that which had already passed.

There was no satisfaction in this "victory". There was no life, at least so far, and there was no hope. Freak's face became increasingly grim as he and his brother continued toward Pride Rock—there was nothing, nothing at all on the ground except for blood, scorch marks, and the occasional body of a friend that Freak had fought to _save_.

The wind began to kick up—at first, Freak didn't realize it because he was still moving at a moderate speed. But soon, neither he nor his brother could ignore the insistent pressure exerted on them by the atmosphere—what was the cause? Was it some natural fluctuation in weather patterns? At first, that explanation seemed adequate, but soon Freak realized what it really was.

It used to be that there were things in the Pride Lands—things to stop the wind from accelerating and accelerating and accelerating until it grew powerful enough to nearly pick Freak up off the ground. Previously, only limited regions in the Pride Lands were so barren of large structures—they got quite windy at times, but it was nothing like this at all. Trees would take years to grow—and before that, their seeds would take years to get to positions where they'd be able to stop the wind from raging across the terrain.

No one much lighter than a fully grown hyena would be able to stray more than ten miles from Pride Rock—not for generations, by Freak's reckoning. Kochai wouldn't be able to move freely around her homeland for years… if she was even alive.

The guilt and depression weighing down on Freak's mind nearly crushed him—but for the moment, he was still standing, still breathing, still alive. What happened to him after that depended entirely on who was left back at Pride Rock, still some miles off. If there were many left… Freak would be able to continue to live. If there weren't… he didn't know what he'd do. He didn't know what he'd do at all.

Freak looked at his brother, just for a few seconds. His eyes flickered down, briefly, but then he looked forward again. There was far too much to explain; far too much to be thought out before Freak could even try to tell his brother what he'd been doing in the past few years. There were far too many questions, additionally, for Freak to even know where to start asking.

All that Freak knew to do now was to go to Pride Rock and pray that at least some of his friends and family were still alive. To that end, he increased his pace, somewhat—and then nearly tripped over his own paws when he saw something moving in the corner of his vision. His eyes widened and he turned as quickly as he could—too quickly; he lost his balance and skidded across the charred soil before righting himself and racing toward—no, he wouldn't dare think that it was them, not quite yet. But Freak felt his brother fall back and hiss, threatening the unfamiliar form of life and warning his brother to keep his distance—Freak disregarded that, of course, and moved ever faster.

Kifo was alive, it seemed. Whether this was an omen of good or evil remained to be seen.

* * *

(Please read Chapter 12 of My Name now—then come back here.)

* * *

The Master of darkness was gone, and now, Kifo was gone. Two dark spirits had left the Land of the Spirits forever—that was significant, but Freak wasn't ready to consider things over and done yet, not quite yet. Still, some things had to be seen; some things had to be done… nothing could be planned until everything was known.

Freak had a few questions left—not many, but a few. Yet, he felt with unfortunately great certainty that he knew the answers to at least most of them… he shook his head. He didn't know anything for certain, and he couldn't honestly make inductive considerations about what he would see from what he had seen.

After all, Kochai was alive. That fact brought great hope to Freak—or, rather, it should have. Because even as he looked at the kitten, living and breathing and thinking and talking, the li-tigon felt nothing but that constant, gnawing curiosity and foreboding deep in his being.

"How did you get out of the cave?" Freak asked. This was probably the least interesting question on his mind—but it was the only one that could be answered then and there, as he watched the patch of earth where Kifo had lain smoke and smolder and then cool down.

"Ahh, big brother, that's… actually, it's a secret that I have promised not to tell anyone—"

"Kochai."

There was no amusement in the li-tigon's voice, and the lack of humor actually made Kochai blink. Previously, she had had a pretty good relationship with Freak—she got him to play with her all the time, and even joke with her, too. But now, as she looked into the older feline's eyes, she saw nothing but deadened, darkened impatience.

She hung her head.

"I asked big brother Kifo not to put me in… and then, he—big brother? Big brother—"

Freak had decided that he was no longer interested in what Kochai had to say—so, simply, he turned away from her and began to walk, at first, before breaking into a slow jog that she might be able to match if she pushed herself. That made the kitten's ears droop, of course—but what really stopped her speech in its tracks was when she noticed that she and Freak were not alone. There was another, there—another li-tigon, another being that looked and smelled exactly like Freak.

Kochai followed the two brothers closely—and, she noted, the Freak and the other li-tigon now not only looked the same—they behaved the same as well.

* * *

The arrival of Pride Rock was imminent. Freak had been approaching it for some time—but now that it was within a few hundred yards, he suddenly felt all desire to see what had happened leave him. Why should he, after all? He'd done what he was supposed to—how everyone had fared while he was fighting was something that he couldn't have affected.

What was he going to accomplish, by going back to Pride Rock? At best, he'd be exiled peacefully—he would be the scapegoat for the grievous losses of the day, and probably rightly so.

At worst, more blood would be shed.

He stopped just far enough from Pride Rock that he couldn't see anyone—though he smelled life, somehow, in a manner that is impossible to describe but impossible to mistake. Panting, somewhat, he blinked, slowly, and turned to the south—and then the southeast.

The Jungle—that was his home, or as close to a home as he'd ever known. If he went there and crossed the Eastern Volcanoes, he could disappear into the Unexplored Regions and live out his life the way he was supposed to: fighting for survival every minute of every day… There would be no peace in that sort of existence, and there really wouldn't be much satisfaction, either. But there would be no guilt and no turmoil—there would be nothing. Was he cut out for that?... if Freak had lived in the Jungle until that point in his life, the answer would have been a resounding yes. But now, there was no way to know what sort of lifestyle would possibly let Freak exist without quickly going mad.

He might well have left, right then—but Freak happened to meet his brother's eyes. It wasn't for very long, but in that brief period of time the li-tigons came to an agreement—and Freak started to make his way into the immediate vicinity of Pride Rock at a slow, foreboding gait. He only had to tie up this one final loose end—and then he… he didn't know what he'd do.

Freak felt his brother fall back—now, he was on his own, apart from Kochai, but he paid her no heed. He simply looked down, concentrating on putting one paw in front of the other—he could barely execute even the simple task of walking in his state. Guilt and foreboding weighed on the li-tigon's mind—but there was surprisingly little sadness. Or perhaps he just didn't notice how sad he was. He might have been desensitized to depression by the events of the day or by a lifetime of angst—there was no way to tell which it was, if either.

The ground around Pride Rock had not been spared from damage. Rather, it seemed that that area had it the worst, since the greatest concentrations of darkness had been precisely where Freak was now walking up until just under an hour ago. The ground had been pounded into loose, dry sand, and the sheer amount of soot and spent casings in the area made it unlikely that anything would ever grow there again.

In contrast, Freak's paws left no significant mark on the land, although each supported over a hundred pounds of weight. He wouldn't have it any other way, however—he didn't want to leave behind anything more than he already had. The delusions he'd once dared to dream about—creating a family, among others—they were slowly disintegrating in his mind; decomposing to the subatomic level, never, ever, ever to return. There was no doubt in Freak's mind that he was only capable of leaving death and destruction in his path. All that he could control was who he killed and destroyed and how—he couldn't create anything good, anything lasting. It wasn't his apparent fate.

Freak stopped midstep. He was now halfway up Pride Rock—he still couldn't see anyone, but now, he could hear the unmistakable signs of life in addition to smelling them. Someone had survived… Yet, this failed to rouse even the slightest sense of curiosity within Freak. He wanted nothing more than to go away, then, and perhaps return later—but he kept walking. He didn't know why—he felt like he was walking to his own execution, and in a way, he was. Many things in him had died that day, but a few yet remained to be killed.

He was thinking a lot, he observed. He was having a lot of revelations, but that was okay. He wouldn't need to think at a level above what a non-sentient was capable of after that day—he could exhaust his mind now, then. It would be rested forever starting in the very near future.

A sudden burst of sunlight told Freak that he'd stepped into view of anyone that remained standing on Pride Rock. It also told him that the Sun itself was no longer buffered by the clouds—he looked up to confirm that, and, indeed, for the first time in months, there was no dull, gray haze to stop the Spirits and their children from seeing one another.

Freak felt neither hope nor warmth, though. His parents and many other members of his family were there, in plain view, but they either could not or would not see him. Freak imagined that it was the latter option—there was no darkness within him. He was not an evil being; that's why he'd been able to defeat Kifo the Master of darkness. But he was not a decent being, either, not in any way. From the time he was born, he had only ever done the most terrible of things to live—his actions were, apparently, completely justified. But that didn't make him into a creature of righteousness.

Even those that still lived, it seemed, recognized that Freak was not a good being. He was in a gray area, it seemed, which was apt, considering his heritage. He was not evil, but he would not enter Heaven upon his death. He would… it was impossible to speculate what Freak's final fate was. It was impossible to speculate what he would be doig in twenty for hours, even. It was impossible to speculate what his reaction would be in five seconds, when he registered that he was looking at Simba, Aoi, Akane, and not too many others.

The crest of Pride Rock was clear of darkness, but it had not been spared from the taint of blood. There was a lot of it, all red and much still fresh—small rivulets of plasma trickled their way down the fine, chiseled surface of the stone to the ground below. One or two ran under and then over and all around Freak's paws as he stood, completely, perfectly, totally still, looking over a scene so shocking to him that it was almost surreal.

The hyenas were gone. So were most of the original Pride Land lionesses, and so were most of the Eastern Nomads. The Desert Warriors—they were alive, but badly hurt. Freak looked at them without the glint of recognition in his eye; he couldn't tell between one of them and the next—but he could tell that they would require months if not years to heal even partially. At least two of them would almost certainly lose a paw or more.

Freak felt an insistent pain within his head. He gave himself an irritated shake, realizing, vaguely, that Kochai had moved forward from his side, and, silently crying, was performing the grim task of accounting for who had been lost. Freak left her be—something was wrong, something didn't make sense, what was it?

And then, he realized—Uvuli was gone, and she wasn't just dead. Not even a shred of her remained—he couldn't see anything that looked remotely like her, couldn't smell her, couldn't feel the warm haze that surrounded him when she was close. She was gone, it seemed, so completely that literally not a trace of her remained on the Earth, and it was that realization that finally made Freak feel something real.

He shut his eyes for a long moment. His thoughts were not coherent—they were simply scenes of death and destruction synthesized by his mind as he imagined how so many had met their ends on Pride Rock, because he was slow to kill the Master of darkness. The rapidly changing blasts of pain and terror and blood and loss threatened to tear Freak's mind apart—until he realized that he was being spoke to.

Simba had been insistently saying the li-tigon's name for a few seconds by the time Freak finally blinked and broke through his trance. He tilted his head and looked at his cousin with a trace of feeling on his face—because by that time, he didn't have anything left with which to feel. There was nothing that could be done or said that could place Freak in a lower depth than the trench he had fallen into. He could be cursed, attacked, condemned, or even tortured and left out in the open to die—but he wouldn't feel anything but a dull sense of deserving. Everything that had gone wrong that day had gone wrong because of him—everything.

"How did… Uvuli die?" Freak asked. He tried to meet Simba's eyes, but for a long moment, he couldn't. When he finally succeeded, he felt his own eyes glaze over as he looked sort of behind the once noble, proud, red-maned lion—now, his cousin's fur was entirely red and matted with blood.

Simba's expression was broken, but not completely vanquished, as Freak's was. He looked down and to the side, sadly, but after a moment, he answered in a sane, level tone. "Are you… sure you want to know?" His voice was small, but not pathetic. He was still a person—he still had his mind and he still had purpose. That was why when he looked up at his cousin again, Freak had to turn aside and shake his head.

For a moment, the li-tigon simply looked around, as if in some dumb hope that things would change, right before his eyes—as if Kochai would stop crying, as if Aoi would coax life back into at least a few of the bodies of her adoptive aunts and cousins and nieces, as if Roderik would look old as he had before the war—not as he did now: old and hurt and broken and helpless.

He walked forward, past Simba, to the very tip of Pride Rock. This was a place that had previously never ceased to both amaze and humiliate Freak—looking over the vast paradise before him, the li-tigon had always been amazed by what the Spirits were capable of, and humbled that they allowed him in their greatest creation.

But now, he had to dig his claws into the rock beneath him to resist the urge to just jump off and end it all. Everything Freak could see was blackened with soot and blood alike—everything. Not a forest lay unmarred, and some burned on yet. The grasslands to the far south and east had been razed to the ground. All the herds were long gone—either killed by the forces of darkness or scared out of the Pride Lands.

And what would bring them back? There was nothing to eat in the Pride Lands—it didn't seem that a single blade of grass had been spared the rage of darkness, and it would take untold years for anything to grow back. Until then, the Pride Lands would be uninhabitable, and that was an inevitable truth. The conclusion that followed was as logical as it was terrible.

Everyone would have to leave Pride Rock. The only grim upside to that dark fact was that since there were so few of them left, they could live a semi-nomadic lifestyle indefinitely. Their numbers would take generations to hit the critical mass that would force them to find a prosperous enough land, or migration pattern, to settle into.

Freak turned away from the scene before him—he'd had enough of it. His eyes were shut as he walked back down Pride Rock, in the general direction of the sleeping chambers—now, an impromptu hospital and morgue where the dead rested peacefully and the dying waited to join them. Simba was doing what he could for the many moaning, bleeding bodies laying in pools of their own blood on the dusty rock surfaces, which wasn't much at all. His medical abilities had never been impressive, and he was exhausted from hours of fighting.

For a moment, the li-tigon simply stood at the chamber entrance. His tail lashed around behind him, sporadically, and that was the only sign there was that he was even alive. His posture was assertive and his ears were erect—his face was intent, but he did nothing. He simply looked, for a few seconds, before turning to face Kochai.

The kitten had been hovering somewhere near his side. She didn't get too close—it wasn't that she was scared of Freak, exactly, but she knew that any affection she gave him would not be returned, and she wasn't sure that she could take a blow like that—not that day. When he looked down at her, however, she looked back up, at first with the distant flicker of hope in her eyes… that died, when she saw the deadened expression in Freak's gunmetal visage.

"Kochai… you're going to be the next leader of the Pride Lands. When Simba and Nala are old… you will be Queen." He looked up, and turned to his cousin, speaking loudly so that those who still clung to life could hear him as well.

"In compliance with the law of our Land, as the Lion King, I grant Simba, adviser, command of the Pride Lands, and all of its people. I relinquish my position as the Lion King," Freak said. A great burden lifted from his shoulders—he turned away, then, and the few words he said next trailed, rapidly, into silence. "Good luck, Simba, Kochai, and the rest of you. I hope that you all live long, prosperous lives, and never, ever see me again." He stopped speaking, then—and before the stunned silence that overtook the scene could break into endless questioning and persuasion, Freak moved to leave Pride Rock.

As he did, head lowered, he passed just in front of Aoi and Akane, comforting one another and still shaking from the shock and terror and pain they'd experienced that day—they were both alive, and in love, but Freak didn't have to look into their eyes to see the scars etched permanently into their minds. He had lied, he realized—at least in a small way—when he'd implied that there was even the slightest possibility that anyone that considered himself a Pride Lander would live long or happily. He couldn't help but feel a grim sense of certainty that they were all of them doomed.

Yet, he stopped, then, when Kochai called his name and raced up to his side with tears in her eyes. She vigorously rubbed her head against his shin and looked up at him, sadly, hoping to convince him to stay without words—that failed, utterly, as the lifeless look in Freak's eyes failed to change in any way. Stung, the kitten stepped back and lowered her head, speaking to his paws rather than his face.

"Big brother… where are you going?"

Freak continued to look down at her, for a moment, before turning away and shaking his head. "I don't know," he said, hollowly. "Somewhere far, far away… probably outside of the Land of the Spirits." He was honest—he didn't have any specific plans. Possibilities multiplied in his mind as soon as he tried to grasp at a single opportunity—he knew, then, that he'd spend at least months wandering before he even had an idea of what to do or where to go.

Kochai was crying, he realized. And that did make him feel a little regret. He moved as if to lift her chin up with a paw, so that she'd look at him, but he stopped halfway through and spoke in a voice only marginally less curt and blunt than the one he'd employed until then.

"Don't be sad, Kochai. I'll be safe, and if… if you ever really, truly need me… you'll be able to find me. I won't hide…"

He wanted to say something more. He ought to have been able to something more. And the smile he gave to Kochai, then, that he attempted to expand to direct at the rest of those that he'd fought for should have been somewhat less weak—but Freak had done his best and he could do no more.

There was nothing left for him in the Pride Lands, now. He had no reason to stay, and he had every reason to leave—and so, he did, then, walking slowly down from Pride Rock. As he did, he felt neither enlightenment nor any sense that what he was doing was right—but he hadn't expected to. He didn't feel anything attempting to hold him back, and he hadn't expected that, either.

He must not have taken a long time. When he was on the ground again, his brother wasn't seated, but rather standing with his paws apart. He was balanced and powerful, more of a static presence than a dynamic one—save for his eyes and head, which tracked Freak as he approached, the other li-tigon didn't move.

There was a question on his lips, it seemed, and Freak knew what it was immediately. He chose not to answer, however, and merely walked past his brother with his head and tail both still lowered. A moment later, his brother moved to follow him—and only then did Freak begin to speak.

"We're going to stay together… …you can't speak." It wasn't a question as much as it was a statement. But Freak's brother nodded regardless.

They were walking quite slowly, then, but that wouldn't last for long. Freak's eyes flickered back and forth, left and right in their sockets as he tried to think of something, anything to do with the next few hours—anywhere to go—but he couldn't. So, he just kept walking. Maybe a decision would never come to him; maybe he was supposed to live the rest of his life without the security of even having any idea where he ought to be—but he could deal with that. He could learn to deal with that.

Freak turned and looked at his brother. His brother turned and looked back, and, slowly, the two cats came to a halt. It wasn't that they were suddenly concerned about one another—but now that things had calmed down, they were both starting to feel the shock that had been staved off for hours. They had one another, it seemed, and that knowledge was so difficult to accept as true that what was real seemed to be surreal. They smelled the same, they looked the same, and they acted and thought almost exactly the same, too—they would have been identical in every sense of the word if it wasn't for random chance, but even now, with years of different experiences between them, they were still almost precisely the same.

Simply being in the same place was enough to make both of them feel that they were one and the same—that they had two selves. If this was a thought that was comforting in general, it wasn't to them—because after a moment, they both simply continued to walk. Questions could wait, maybe forever, because for now, the horizon awaited. Their eyes locked on that physically unreachable limit as they considered, together, the challenges that they would overcome together.

They turned to the southeast. The decision was made bilaterally without a word of speech. Freak was about to run—but something stopped him dead in his tracks, then, making him turn around before he'd registered what had happened.

His brother had done the same, it seemed. The two li-tigons faced Pride Rock, ready to fight—but there was no threat. There was no danger. It was just Simba, Roderik, Aoi, Akane, the Desert Warriors, and the surviving Nomads and Pride Landers—they were all roaring in a final, proud farewell to Freak.

For a long moment, Freak simply stood where he was, eyes wide, listening to the feline shout. There were no words, of course—but there was a meaning embedded within that roar that Freak received, and understood, and treasured. He was not hated. He was not feared—he would be recognized as a hero, and he would be missed.

The roar ended, at least mostly. A noise of that magnitude couldn't simply vanish into nothingness instantly, although every surface capable of reflecting sound had been razed to the ground for miles—the land was flat, but Freak could hear the echoes of the roar continue regardless for several seconds after.

He was breathing hard, he realized. And in his chest, there wasn't quite nothing—he felt emotion, he really did. Not everything in him had died that day—not quite.

And, so, Freak answered with a roar of his own. Somewhat hesitantly, at least at first, his brother joined in.

That was a historical moment. Never before had two hybrids so improbably rare been heard roaring together, and never again would Freak or his brother roar together in the Pride Lands. Never again would they make any noise, literally or metaphorically—their lives as significant players in the goings-on of the world were finished, and that was communicated by their joint outcry.

Toward the end of his shout, Freak managed to change the tone of things from a salute and a farewell to a more savage, feral yell. He didn't say a word, of course, but he managed to warn the Pride Landers and tell them the last, most valuable lesson that he'd ever learned.

Never stop fighting.

Freak finally became silent. The remnants of his roar didn't seem to last nearly as long as the Pride Landers'. Maybe it was because there were just two of him, and there had been many of them—but Freak believed that it wasn't so simple. The Pride Lands and their people were ready for him to leave—they were already preparing for the future when his absence would be constant.

Freak shut his eyes, then, and simply felt the ground under his paws, the air through his fur…

The Pride Lands. To him, they meant many things—they were the place where he'd learned that not everyone was a threat, they were where he'd found love and family and friends and heritage and they were his home, at least in a way. Many things might happen in the years he and his brother had left in their lives, but the Pride Lands would always, always be there for them.

Freak was leaving a lot behind. But his life had always been dynamic. He'd made and lost friends… and he'd found and lost love. The only thing that would be constant in his life for then and forever on would be that his brother would be at his side.

Freak's eyes opened. The deadened, dark look in them was no more—but the glint visible in those deep, gunmetal orbs was not one of hope. It was a sense he'd rarely felt before… he didn't know what to make of it, exactly, and so for a few seconds yet, he stood there.

"I've done everything I should have. I've fixed everything as best as I could…"

Uvuli. Vitani. Raj. Nasher. Asal. The Dark One. Sikia. Kovu. Banzai. Shenzi. T. Sarabi. A dozen dozen other hyenas and lions and humans and tigers that had died on and leading to that day—Freak would remember them all forever and pray that he had done well by them… and his ascendants.

He looked to the sky. The Spirits… they were there. He couldn't see them, and he couldn't feel them, really, but he knew they were there. His mother and father and sister and grandparents and forefathers and relatives and friends were there, looking down at him—and Freak could only hope that he had done well by them. He could only hope.

"I don't belong here… this isn't my home. I wasn't made for this… but I'll never forget those who loved me… those who never betrayed my trust. I'll never forget… everyone is a threat. Never stop fighting. And I'll never forget who I am and what my purpose is."

Freak started to walk.

"I'll never find peace here. I'll never find _peace_. My life is fighting and fighting is my life. I'll find what I want for myself… I'll choose the life, the fights, that I like."

He was running, by then. His brother had caught up and for a moment, the two li-tigons looked at one another and in that moment they both knew that there would be nothing but hardship and struggle for them for the rest of their days. But they also knew that there were no other possibilities—they could never stop fighting.

Freak recognized, then, a truth so dark that he'd never allowed it to even come to coherence for years. He recognized that he _liked_ fighting—he liked the challenge and the excitement and the sense he got then that he never got no elsewhere—he liked the feeling that he was doing something with _purpose_.

Perhaps, then, Freak wasn't seeking adventure. Perhaps he was seeking to fulfill his purpose in life—but it definitely felt like the former.

Freak and his brother raced onward. They might slow down, eventually, when Freak really began to feel the burn—but he'd been bulking up for months to fight short engagements against singular foes. In the future, he'd need to be as dynamic and adaptable as his brother was, then, three times over. To temper himself to the challenges he and his brother would face, they would not sneak through the Falme Kindakindaki. They would fight their way through at full speed with the full force necessary to permanently bring that nation to its knees, so that when they regrouped, the Pride Landers would have no problem eviscerating it from the Earth once and for all. Evil would no longer be tolerated in the Land of the Spirits—anywhere.

Freak's ears were erect and his heart was beating and his muscles were pumping and he was sweating and his mind was creating and prioritizing and considering a thousand issues at once. His life was in chaos—and he wouldn't have it any other way.

Freak and his brother trailed soot and dust into the air as they left, so that their departure from the Pride Lands was visible from miles off—from Pride Rock itself. Into the distance they went, more and more, faster and faster, smaller and smaller until at one point, at one instance, they were no longer visible at all.

Freak just ran faster. His face was grim—but he didn't slow down and he didn't turn back. On his lips was a single word that, for that entire day, would remain unspoken: "Goodbye."

A thousand questions remained in Freak's mind, but he felt a sense of closure, then, regardless. There would be time in the future to think about what had happened up to and on that day—lots of time. There would be time with the li-tigon to his side, too…

Soon, running simply couldn't occupy the full capacities of Freak's intelligence. His mind wandered, but not very far—the enormity of the events of just hours ago could not be understated. He thought about the battles, the war, the blood, the losses—and then, he had a slight revelation. The Forbidden Island; the transformation that it had undergone… he understood what it was, and he understood why it had happened.

That was the final thought Freak had in the Pride Lands. After that, he simply let his mind slip away, and became one with his paws, his muscles, the perfect, toned sculpture of power and agility that was his body.

He was gone.

* * *

Kochai and Simba watched him go—him and his brother. For a time, the latter had assumed that his eyes, tired from a day of combat and the sights of the bodies and the blood and the loss were tricking his—and then, finally, Simba had snapped and wondered who on Earth that was next to Freak, why they looked the same, and why they moved in precisely the same manner.

Kochai explained, of course. And although the idea that Freak had a brother would have been beyond incredible in normal times, Simba, then, was too exhausted to do anything more than simply nod and accept her words as truth.

They continued to watch the li-tigons as the two distant cats diminished into nothing but a cloud of dust and memories. They were going to the southeast, it seemed, but no one could conceive why—not that they tried very hard. What motivated Freak, what desires he still had… these were things that were impossible to speculate about, and they always had been.

Besides—they all had more pressing matters to consider than Freak's actions.

"When my cousin returned the Kingship to me… just before that, he said that you will be Queen when Nala and I are old. But what about?... Kiara is dead."

Simba shut his eyes. He swallowed against a dry throat and felt a new wave of sorrow, one unlike anything he'd ever known before, wash over him. His daughter, his only child… gone, forever. He would never again see her, never again feel her, and, yes, never again be chastised by her for being overprotective although she was fully grown and with a mate of her own and a full Queen of the Pride Lands. All of that was over for him… until his time in the Land of the Spirits was also over.

He looked at the sky. Darkness was still there, but it was clearing up, slowly—even then, Simba could feel a presence there, looking down at him as well. He could feel it, but it wasn't enough—to remind himself that the Spirits had failed, all he had to do was to look behind him, to an infirmary and morgue that was quickly turning into simply a morgue.

He took in a deep breath. He let it out slowly and looked at the horizon, all around Pride Rock. Miles of the skyscape were visible to him—but there were no clouds. There would be no sudden rainfall to help cleanse the land of the evil it had endured. There was no divine help whatsoever—it seemed that then, like in the past, the children of the Spirits were on their own.

"Kochai…" Simba said that softly, before looking down at the kitten, or at least trying to. Quickly, he looked back up over his kingdom—he couldn't look her in the eye and say what had to be said. "We… have to leave Pride Rock. There's not… any way… that we can live here. There's no water, no food…"

He shut his eyes, briefly, but that didn't prevent several tears from leaking out. Damn it all—why was he being so emotional? It might have been land passed down to him by his ancestors; it might have been the Spirits' greatest creation—but it was still land and nothing more. It was replaceable…

Kochai seemed to understand him. She rubbed her cheek against the side of Simba's shin—and, after a moment, the red-maned lion simply lay down and held her close. He was more exhausted than he ever had been before in his life. His eyes remained open, glazed over and bloodshot, taking in what he intended to be one of his last sights of the Pride Lands. Everyone was tired, that day… but the next, they'd have to leave. All that had to be done until then was to bury or burn the dead—then again… it might be a few days until they could leave. Many had been lost—many, many, many indeed.

After a moment, however, Kochai squirmed out of the Lion King's somewhat uncomfortably tight grasp. She left him, then, at a rapid pace—and honestly, he couldn't blame her. She was still young, after all; after seeing so much bloodshed and death, she deserved to see something other than misery.

He heard the soft, fast-paced taps of her paws diminish as she moved away from him and shut his eyes at long last. He wanted to sleep—no, he wanted to _die_. His father and his grandfather had made their share of mistakes and had had their share of difficult times when they had served as the Lion King, but neither of them had ever dreamed of facing a day as dark as those ahead of Simba. The rest of his life would be spent in misery; he'd have to spend every hour considering how to scratch life off some new rock or how to continue to evade the Falme or where to go to find water—and what was that irritating tugging on his ear?

Simba turned around, and that was what got Kochai to quit trying to get him to wake up. He looked at her not quite in anger, but in curiosity—what did she want?

The red-maned lion blinked and tilted his head. Kochai smiled, brilliantly, somehow without dropping the small bag—and then rapidly made her way down Pride Rock. Without hesitation, Simba followed—what was she doing?

She led him a ways from the front of Pride Rock. In fact, Simba realized, he was being led to the rear of Pride Rock, where Kochai was supposed to have been hidden—why did she want to go back there? Nothing made sense, anymore, but simple curiosity kept Simba going. He had nothing better to do, after all.

Simba could not follow Kochai into the cave—it was too small or he was too big, or both, depending on your point of view. He watched the kitten's cuffed tail vanish out of sight and simply looked around, dumbly, wondering what he ought to do. In the back of his mind, he considered where he might take his Pride... he'd heard that the Lower Plains were beautiful that time of the year, although, of course, nothing could compare to the Pride Lands themselves…

"Uncle Simba," Kochai said merrily, from some twenty feet into the cave, "I don't know the old language of lions very well… this says, 'Speak, friend, and enter'… what should I say?"

"Huh?" Simba got down on all fours and managed to get his head into the cave—he couldn't get farther than that and he couldn't see whatever Kochai was referring to. He almost got stuck, then—with a bit of uncomfortable tugging and squirming, the Lion King managed to get back out of the cave—then he nodded to himself, although he still hadn't the foggiest idea of what was going on.

"It's a riddle," he said. "'Speak 'friend' and enter', not 'Speak, friend, and enter'… friend…" Simba didn't have to think for long to remember the language his father had taught him, the language that had fallen out of common use years ago. A simple pattern of deep, feline noises made in the center of his throat later—and the Lion King heard a loud _clack_.

Now, he was more confused than ever.

"Kochai? What's going on in there—hey, what's that smell? …Kochai?"

"Coming, uncle; give me a moment, please. This is very heavy…"

A moment later, Kochai was halfway out of the cave. She was pulling something without much success—pushing hard against the sooty ground with her hind legs, she strained in effort—then stepped aside, frustrated and exhausted, for Simba to take over.

For the Lion King, it didn't take much effort to get the cloth bag out of the cave. He had to take some care not to shred it with his teeth—but after that, it was easy work. Simba hauled the large container into the open—blinked—and then searched for an opening of some sort.

In the end, it was Kochai that opened the bag, by pulling on a bit of string not far from the end that Simba had gripped. A cascade of color suddenly appeared—reflexively, Simba jumped back, although Kochai did not.

A moment later, the Lion King's eyes were wide.

Kochai looked at Simba, smiling, and then looked over the multitude of smallish, oblong objects that had been revealed. She had a tough time choosing, at first—but then she sniffed over them a few times and selected one in particular, taking it in her teeth and then running it to a location some thirty feet away.

She set it down on the ground, then—the charred, sooty, loose soil—and started to dig.

Not daring to believe what he was seeing, Simba followed the kitten. He stood next to her, then, and watched as Kochai place the small, spherical object into the hole—and then used her paws to bury it, leaving a small mound in the ground where it had been.

Simba looked at Kochai, then. She was smiling, but not at him—she was smiling what she'd just done, at least for a moment, before moving to make her way back to the bag. Then, however, she noticed that she was being looked at, and smiled up at the Lion King himself.

"I don't think you're right, uncle Simba," the kitten said quietly. "We do _not_ have to leave the Pride Lands. It might be hard… but if we stay near the Jungle, we can do our hunting there, and at least have a few of us stay at Pride Rock at any time. It won't be easy… but if we do this," she gestured at the brief mound in the soil, "and if we shepherd the herds northward from the Jungle… we might have the Pride Lands back in a few years. Yes?"

Simba had no words for her. He breathed heavily, for a moment, and for that moment Kochai was quite concerned about the Lion King. He broke eye contact with her, and looked out over the ashen terrain before him—she nudged at his shin with her paw, but he did not react. He didn't do anything at all, it seemed, for a few moments—and then he promptly turned on his heel and strode briskly, with a purpose and determination that he believed he would never feel again.

The Lion King went back to the bag of seeds. He scooped a few up in his paw and looked around, once, before starting to plant them at varying distances from Pride Rock and one another. Most of them wouldn't survive to adulthood, and how grass would come back to the Pride Lands was another matter altogether. But at least plants, green, and life would be back to his home while he still lived—at least it had a chance to.

Simba did not cry. He didn't say anything, either, for the next four or five hours, a period of time during which those at the crest of Pride Rock—those that could—joined he and Kochai and continued the monotonous task of bringing green back to the Pride Lands. There was no sadness and no depression anymore—and maybe even there was a little bit of hope.

Nala returned, at some point, along with Usiku. The Lion King and his wife shared a tender moment, then, before she joined in, painfully watching as the former Bloody Shadows assassin fruitlessly searched the ranks of the living for his daughter.

The Pride Lands would someday be green again—someday. But that day was far, far, far away… And yet, the sons and daughters of the Pride Lands did their duty, working hard and long to plant at least the beginnings of a forest just there, near Pride Rock. Their homeland was forever changed—it had been razed to the ground in a day and in a generation it would be back, but it would take several generations for the chaotic, unnatural patterns that the Pride Landers were unknowingly preparing to vanish and grow as necessary before environmental equilibrium was reached.

It would be a long time before Pride Rock could truly be "home" again.

The day wore on, however, and no one showed any signs of wanting to stop what they were doing. Their activity, their simple planting of seeds—it was relaxing and therapeutic in a way that was sorely, terribly needed after such a terrible day. It let them calm down, and think, and be grateful for what they did have—and it let the ones that had been among them earlier than day completely leave the world in peace.

The Spirits soon maneuvered through the darkness and saw their sons and daughters. They smiled—and cried—but they did not disturb them. Direct communication could come later; for now, they simply exuded a warm feeling of belonging and safety into the Pride Lands, feelings that had been lost for far, far too long.

There was peace, then. But it was not the same naïve, blind peace that had been known before the war. There was now the grim knowledge that the tree of peace was watered by blood—that was the nature of things, and it always would be. In the future, the Pride Landers would no longer shy away from doing what was hard if it was necessary—no longer would the barbarism to the order of what had been done in the White Sands be tolerated. Even then, Simba considered his options for dealing with the Falme. They would be brought into line—they would _have_ to be brought into line one way or the other.

Truly, it was terrible to have to consider waging another war immediately after such a devastating conflict. Simba wasn't really considering an invasion, though—for the moment, he was just playing war games in his mind alone. And yet, who knew what the future held?... surely, sooner or later, the Pride Lands would have to face down the Falme, once and for all.

Or maybe not. Maybe there was a reason why Freak and his brother had gone to the southeast. After all, Freak had left the Pride Lands—but Simba felt with complete conviction that he had not and indeed would never leave his morality.

Simba let his mind go blank—at least, mostly. There was a presence nearby, Simba could feel it—it wasn't his father, but it was similar. Maybe it was his grandfather?... it wasn't malicious, whatever it was, the Lion King knew that for sure. He allowed himself to be guided, then, and taken up into the clouds and the sky to see a view that would make sure that the Pride Landers never, ever forgot the lessons they'd learned that day.

He flew, then, but not for very long. Simba was taken out of his body and carried into the sky as a bodiless, massless entity, free to look around as he wished. Of course, the Lion King kept his eyes on the ground, on the Pride Lands—his responsibility. Yet, soon, he was taken away from Pride Rock, away from where the majority of the fighting had taken place.

He traveled to the northwest—and then, he left the Pride Lands altogether. After spending several seconds over the Forbidden River, he was making his way over the Forbidden Island itself.

Huh. It was a lot bigger than he had always imagined it. For miles to the north and west it spread—Simba had always assumed that it was a thin strip of land, to the immediate west of which lay territories both unknown and irrelevant. But no, it was a massive land, one that was no longer covered in darkness—now, it was a mountainous region with illiterate people who still think like it's the twelfth century—that is to say, now, it was a mountainous region of steppes and rock and grass and valleys, one which Simba couldn't make sense of one way or the other. Why had he been brought there?

And then, he moved upward, into the sky—or, from his perspective, backward. Simba looked around, confused, as he was moved toward the stars—but then something in his mind clicked and he looked back to the ground.

The Forbidden Island shrank, in his point of view, diminishing in size until it could be viewed in its entirety. Simba would have gasped, then, if he could have, as he came to the same conclusion that Freak had.

The Forbidden Islands' geographical formations were not natural. The mountain ranges emanated from the rough center of the island—a large, domed rock too strangely shaped to be considered another mountain. Stone rose from the ground like some obscene spider gripping the land—or some other creature, too evil and terrible to describe.

"The Master of darkness."

Simba was back in the Pride Lands. He had frozen on his paws, for some seconds—almost, but not quite long enough for anyone to feel real concern. Nala was looking at him oddly, out of the corner of her eye—but when he started to move again she relaxed and got back to her work.

And, after a moment, Simba did as well. But he didn't stop thinking, then; not for a moment did he cease to have new revelations about the world and the Pride Lands' place in it.

The Pride Lands were not supposed to be some distant, shining land—a moral example untouchable and unreachable by almost anyone. They were the Spirits' children, and when they forgot that—when they forgot that they weren't supposed to be standards but enforces of justice and morality throughout the Land of the Spirits—terrible things happened. Terrible things had happened, and terrible things would happen again if the lessons learned that day were ever forgotten.

Simba took in a deep breath, and let it out in slow, sporadic bursts. So much had been lost that day, but looking at Akane and Aoi, and, of course, little Kochai gave the Lion King hope.

So much had been lost that day. But life, as always, would go on...

* * *

(Epilogue will come soon enough. I'm achally starting work on it right now, believe it or not.)


	35. Epilogue: Fathers and Mothers

Lion King: The Freak

Epilogue: Fathers and Mothers

* * *

(This is it, guys—so I won't delay you. Read on!)

* * *

Rain.

That single word was enough to describe the weather conditions for that day, and the several days had preceded it. It was wet, and that was all—yes, there was some wind, and yes, sometimes the temperature fluctuated, but these were just footnotes. The only significant thing that could be said about the environment over the past week was that it was phenomenally wet.

No native Pride Landers had seen that much rain in their lives—ever. Not even the oldest among them could recall conditions even remotely similar to the ones they were now experiencing.

But, in the Pride Lands, there existed one who had not lived in the Land of the Spirits for her whole life. There existed one who had spent the first year or so of her existence in a land so distant that it was, for all practical purposes, unreachable. She was their Queen and she was known and loved throughout the Land of the Spirits—and she was worried, but not because of the weather.

The Falme was gone. Finally, that dark blot on the Land of the Spirits had been erased through various means some time before—but the price of freedom and righteousness was eternal vigilance, and it seemed that once again, the very existence of the Land of the Spirits as they were was threatened.

No one really knew who or what their adversary was. There was no doubt, however—he, or she, or it, or they, were not nearly as powerful as the Master of darkness, thank the Spirits. And yet, the Pride Landers' numbers were not where they had once been. They simply didn't have the manpower to fight a direct engagement against their enemy.

And it seemed like their enemy did not have the strength to risk a direct engagement against them. But something pushed him to attack, albeit in an unorthodox guerilla fashion—a strategy that forced the Pride Landers to exercise extreme caution, even in their own lands.

Patrols were doubled and the border to the southeast and east were carefully watched, but hostiles slipped in regardless. Attacks came from all directions without warning, at night or day or dusk or dawn—and there had been losses. The Pride Landers had lost two young lionesses, and after that, the Queen had decided that something had to change.

And so she had left her home, going south to seek advice at least and direct assistance at best.

The wisdom of the veteran elderly and the strength of young bodies would keep her home safe while she was gone, she hoped, or she wanted to—but she had no alternatives. She had left with a tear and a dark premonition—but she had not hesitated. Heading out with a rapid jog that she had maintained, for hours, until exhaustion and a sudden thunderstorm forced her to seek cover.

She had hoped to get much farther, but luck was not on her side. With a vague yet unshakeable sense of déjà vu, she wandered through the Jungle—the trees protected her from the worst of the rain, although large torrents of water still occasionally doused her. She was tired, and hungry, and cold, and wet—and if she didn't find shelter soon, she might pass out.

When she was approaching the final reserves of her strength, however, she saw something—something to the east, to her left, some crevice in the Eastern Volcanoes. It was a cave, it seemed, and in it she would find safety.

And so she entered it, too tired to take note of anything that might have been there already.

As fate would have it, however, the Queen of the Pride Lands was not killed upon entry, nor in the several seconds that followed. She collapsed once she was out of the rain, and managed to maintain consciousness just long enough to recognize that at least for the moment, she was safe. What the future held, however—she had no idea.

* * *

Light returned, and with it came consciousness.

The Queen of the Pride Lands got to her feet and blinked, several times, before stretching and shaking some of the dampness out of her fair, sleek fur. She was tired, still, but she didn't dare go back to sleep before she knew where she was and, more importantly, how safe she was.

The Hell of it was that she had no way to know where she was. She was in a cave, of course, in the Jungle, but her memory leading up to the moment that she'd entered the cave was blurry at best… she didn't know where in the Jungle she was to any degree of accuracy. She had no idea how long she'd slept and she had no idea what time of day it had been when she'd dragged herself into the cave, nor what time it was then. Clouds blotted out the sky entirely, as thunder crashed in the distance and rain continued to pour down—it could have been noon, or midnight, or any time in between.

Was she safe?

For a moment, she believed that the answer to that question was yes—and then she looked down and saw _them_.

Skeletons—two of them—one large and one small, both feline in nature.

Of course, her first reaction was to jump backward and hiss, loudly, to warn any hostile creatures or other entities that she wouldn't go down so easily—but then she realized that the cave didn't end shortly—rather, it expanded backward after a brief border of smashed rock into a chamber too large to immediately rationalize. To the Queen's rear there was a vast pool of water, one that emanated a positively malevolent feel—and so she faced it, her greatest potential threat, and began to move backward, snarling, to leave the cave entirely.

She got out unscathed. It was still raining, then, but not as much as it had been when she'd entered the Jungle—it was drizzling, heavily, but moderate wind kept the forest canopy from offering her much cover. Instantly the outer layer of her coat was soaked, but she paid it little heed. She had to get going, soon, curiosity be damned—there was no way the one she was looking for was hiding underwater in a place like that.

And so she turned around.

And she froze.

How he had come so close to her without her notice she didn't know. She thought she had improved a lot, over the years, in terms of both the power of her senses and her intuition—her reflexes usually bordered on premonitory—but he was there, right in front of her, not ten feet away.

She knew better than to try to make him think that she had noticed him before then at that stage.

His shoulders were hunched up, and she could see that his claws were halfway unsheathed. The expression on his face was fierce—but she didn't believe that it was out of any malicious intent. It somehow seemed that he always looked like that: dangerous, observant, brooding, and on a constant hairpin trigger.

Her response to the blatant threat display was a smile—a sincere, loving, relieved smile.

She went beyond that, a moment later, when he did not relax in any visible manner, and lowered her head a non-negligible amount before sitting down, completely, in a display of submission and passivity.

"It's been a very long time, big brother," she said. "I hope you've been well, yes?"

It had been a long time indeed. But that hadn't affected the amount of respect, of adoration, of awe audible in her voice. It was clear that she still admired and loved the li-tigon—and it was also clear that years of living in the Pride Lands had only softened her pronounced accent.

After a moment, however, the expression on her face shook, just the slightest bit. He continued to stare at her with all the intensity of a laser beam, for several long seconds—before recognition sparked in his eyes and he nodded.

"Kochai…" That was more of a question than anything else. He seemed to have trouble saying her name—was he choked up with emotion? She didn't think so. There was no embrace imminent, nor any other display of real feeling.

So, in response, the Queen of the Pride Lands simply tilted her head and nodded, as if she was confirming her own identity—but why would she need to do that? He hadn't seen her for years, it was true… but couldn't he recognize her? Couldn't he tell that it was her, the same "me, too!" little sister that had followed him all the way to the Land of the Spirits?

"I'm not who you're looking for."

"What?"

The image of them greeting one another, perhaps with formality if not happiness, was immediately smashed to pieces. The Queen stood up, immediately, and that sudden movement made the male in front of her bare his teeth halfway. She ignored it, however, made eye contact with him—and held it. Her eyes, as blazing green as ever, bore into those familiar, dark metal orbs—before she started to circle him.

"So, you're an imposter?... who are you? Who sent you? Answer me," she said, allowing the bite of a threat to enter the final command, even as the male held his position and simply turned, when he had to, so that he was facing the tigress at all times.

Time lagged, somewhat, as the slim form of the golden tigress moved in a tight arc, centered on her foe. She had no immediate intentions to attack—she was just trying to psych him out, and she was ready to defend or dodge more than anything else. The stance she'd assumed had a high center of gravity, so that if need be, she could take advantage of her natural prowess and dive or block or roll or escape as the situation demanded.

Rain continued to fall. Thusly, if the two nearly-combating felines were viewed from a position some distance above them, but still below the forest canopy still farther above, the large drops of water could be watched glancing and bursting off their sleek, toned sides. Both of them were built for fighting, and this showed in their every slight muscular contraction—the tension between them was high, but there was no need to come to blows just yet.

"You're looking for my brother."

That sentence froze Kochai in her tracks. She stopped where she was—and looked into the li-tigon's eyes hard before nodding. Again her guard was lowered, but she displayed no submission now. Now, she simply tilted her head and spoke in what she hoped was a neutral tone.

"You still look the same?... or has only he changed?"

The li-tigon nodded—that was an ambiguous answer, but he offered no clarification, and so, after a moment, Kochai simply moved on.

"Where is your brother?" This time, she spoke in a hopeful tone. He knew where Freak was—he _had_ to know where Freak was. She had felt the energy, the connection between the two brothers as they had left the Pride Lands together. They would never leave one another—they were a team more indivisible than any that had ever existed ain history, and so where Freak's brother went Freak would go and vice versa.

Unless…

"Dead. Got bitten by a blackfang python two days ago…"

That knowledge didn't register with Kochai, not for a long moment. Freak, dead?... For some reason, that didn't make sense. To refer to Freak in the past tense was something so strange that it was almost surreal—and yet there his brother was, right in front of her, telling her what had happened, just two days before—and he wouldn't lie. She knew he wouldn't lie.

The Queen shut her eyes. When she opened them, a minute later, she was crying slightly, noiselessly, simply because she didn't know what else to do. Freak, dead… she still couldn't believe it.

She looked around, uselessly—she smelled something else, then, but she wasn't sure what. No matter—nothing appeared, and with Freak's brother so close, she was untouchable regardless.

Although her head was spinning, she tried to speak in a purposeful tone. She looked at Freak's brother, hoping that her eyes weren't too hollow and bloodshot and lost.

"All right. All right. I'm… sorry that I disturbed you. I wanted…" Her voice trailed off and she looked away, shaking her head slowly. What had she wanted? She'd never really thought that out—she'd just believed that somehow, when she found Freak, everything would make sense and in the end everything would turn out right. But now, with Freak gone, who knew what would happen?

"I'm sorry," the Queen whispered again in a dry, defeated tone. "I'll… leave you alone now."

The li-tigon's response was nothing more than a slow nod. That made her think, for the briefest moment—was there sadness in that response? No, it couldn't be. This was a being that had just told her without a trace of emotion that his brother had died, just two days ago. He ought to have been in mourning, even then… it looked like all the time Freak had spent with his brother had failed to make him anything more than a wild animal.

Kochai turned, then, and began to wander away to the north. What would she do now? She would go home, of course, but then what? Every strategy that had been attempted to turn the tide in the war of attrition had failed, utterly, because the Pride Landers were locked to one position but their enemies were not. Unless the rules of the engagement could be somehow changed, there was nothing she could do except for try to weather the storm, no matter how long it lasted. More cubs would have to be had, and the young ones would have to be prepared to live in fear of attack 24/7…

It wouldn't work. It definitely wouldn't work. Not for more than a year or two, anyway. The Pride Lands would have to be ceded, or everyone would die—and yet the Pride Lands could _not_ be ceded at any costs.

It looked like death and defeat were both imminent.

But for the moment, Kochai could still walk with her head high, and so she did, for all of five minutes, before it all came crashing down on her.

She shut her eyes and walked with her head hung. The rain had stopped but the dampness under her eyes would not dry. Freak was gone, and with him, any chance of defeating the new evil that had emerged to threaten the Pride Lands.

"Kochai."

The voice was distant—no, no it wasn't. She was used to the wide open plains of the Pride Lands; the behavior of sound in the Jungle was something completely unfamiliar to her. She was being called, by someone perhaps a hundred yards behind her and getting closer every moment.

Supposing it was a hostile? She couldn't bring herself to care very much. Lethargically, as if the weight on her soul was attached to her body, as well, she turned around and watched as Freak's brother approached. His voice made him unmistakable, and so did his appearance—and yet he was moving with some sense of urgency, dampened significantly by some sort of injury on his right hind leg.

That confused her—and so her ears perked up, somewhat, as she waited for him to arrive.

He got to within twenty feet of her and then stopped. He seemed confused, then, but she had no idea why—and then a moment later, he nodded.

"My brother doesn't speak very well. I'm here, Kochai… just hurt. But I'm here—and I'm alive."

She looked at him very hard, for a moment. He wasn't smiling—but there was a warm recognition on his face that couldn't be faked, and there was an eloquence and affection in his voice that she had missed for years, yes, but never, ever forgotten. This was Freak—she was sure of it.

And so the Queen of the Pride Lands smiled, formally, and bowed her head briefly in courteous greeting of an equal or superior—not a subject.

"Big brother… it's been a long time."

She maintained formality for a moment longer before moving forward, crossing the distance between them in two rapid bounds and releasing on him all of the affection of the years. She hugged him, repeatedly, and although her affections were rarely reciprocated, when they were, she was grateful—she expected absolutely nothing in return.

In the end, Freak reached forward and messed up Kochai's neat, sleek headfur. She didn't appreciate that, and nipped at his paw in a playful manner—it was then, it seemed, that the li-tigon noticed that she was no longer a small kitten that he could bat around with one appendage.

"You've grown," he said. "And by now—are you Queen?"

"Yes," the tigress said, quite proudly, "but do not worry, big brother. Uncle Simba is still very much alive."

"Is he." Freak noted that Nala was not included in Kochai's reassurance. He smiled, however, and continued to admire her. For a moment, he was really taken aback—Kochai had really grown, and changed, and blossomed over the years. Could the same be said for himself?... for a moment, he was unsure.

"So," Freak said briskly, "why are you here?" Before he finished speaking, he knew that it was nothing good. And so Kochai spoke honestly and without any sort of preface.

She explained what had been going on, over the past months. The attacks, the violence, and the loss of two of their youngest lionesses—and what struck her about it all was how calm and collected Freak was. It almost seemed like he was unsurprised by this news—like he was expecting it.

When Kochai had told her story, she simply fell silent and waited. Freak looked at her, for a moment, then nodded and turned away, apparently pondering something. It was a moment before he spoke.

"So… you want my brother and I to come back to the Pride Lands, to… find out what's going on."

"No, no," the tigress said quickly. "First, I want you to find out who's doing this—and then I want you to come _home_, big brother." She paused. "It's been a very long time, big brother. We need you—and you want to come back. You should never have left in the first place… you know that, big brother."

He did not deny her. At least, not at first.

"I already know who's responsible," the li-tigon said. "We made contact with him a year ago, in the Unexplored Regions… since then, we've been tracking him all over. Not just in the Land of the Spirits. You wouldn't believe—" He cut himself off, and simply smiled. Stories could wait until later—for now, there were important things that had to be done.

"So… you're coming home?" Kochai said that cautiously. She held back her happiness until Freak looked at her, looked away—and the nodded.

A great burden was lifted from her shoulders, at least partially. Justice and safety would come, soon—once Freak got back to the Pride Lands, it was only a matter of time before evil again met its end. After all, he was the swords of the Spirits—and he couldn't be defeated by anything, ever. That was just the nature of things, Kochai had come to believe.

"Can we leave immediately?" the tigress asked. "You and your brother and me, I mean. I don't know what's been going on at home…" She said that, and immediately fell into brooding, concerned silence. Looking down and to the side, she winced—and then shook her head. She was doing nothing by sitting there and worrying. She had to return—as soon as possible.

But Freak shook his head.

"You should go back immediately, Kochai. You never should have left—you're the Queen of the Pride Lands; your place is at Pride Rock. Wasn't there anyone else who could have been sent…?"

In response to that, the tigress simply shook her head. "I would have sent our youngest… but they were killed. We never found the bodies," she said quietly, "so do not ask me about them, big brother. It's a new custom… we do not discuss the missing dead. Why won't you come now?"

There was a sparkle in Freak's eye at that—or so Kochai thought. She blinked and a second later it was gone, and Freak was nodding his head respectfully.

"I understand. And there are… still some things I need to do here, to prepare to go." He thought, briefly—he looked up and saw that it was raining, again, and so he moved forward and nudged Kochai until they both found cover near a particularly thick group of trees some yards to the west.

There was peace, then, in that quiet sanctuary. Fat drops of water slid down the leaves all around the two felines, but they were not touched—Freak circled the perimeter, for a moment, and Kochai couldn't help but watch him. He was older, yes, but it didn't show—he was strong and fast and tough as nails and although it was clear that he was the veteran of a thousand battles, it was less clear that he was reaching the end of the prime of his life, if he wasn't beyond that already.

But then again, Kochai realized, Freak was no a lion, and he was not a tiger. Who knew how long Freak's prime would last—who knew how long he would live? After all, he didn't look a day older than he did when Kochai had met him, so, so long ago.

"Are you… single, Kochai?" Freak asked that without really facing the tigress—he spoke over his shoulder as an afterthought, although it was clear that he was quite interested in her answer.

"No," she said, blushing somewhat. "Why do you ask in such a way? I'm not a cub anymore, big brother. I don't need your approval to date."

"I know."

He turned to her fully, this time, and smiled—for some reason, however, he continued to pace at the edge of the dry area they'd found—was he waiting for his brother? It seemed like that, although Kochai had no idea how the other li-tigon knew to come, or even where Freak was. She tried not to think about it too much—everything about Freak was mysterious; that much was true and would always be true.

"Are you a mother?"

This time, Kochai did not blush. She nodded and smiled, and answered proudly.

"Yes, big brother. I had two sons and one daughter… I cannot wait for you to meet them. Big brother… I can't wait for you to train them. They're beautiful, and _powerful_, big brother. They're already very big… by the time they're grown, they'll be… much bigger than me, big brother. Much bigger than _you_."

Freak continued to pace, but only after facing Kochai for a full ten seconds, freezing—and smiling broadly at her. He shook his mane out, then, and looked into the distance… but no one was there. Not yet.

"Tell me about them. And their father—who is their father?"

"Swafi… you may not remember him, big brother. He's—"

"—the youngest Nomad," Freak said. "I remember. He's not that big—where do the kids get it from?"

"I'm not sure," Kochai admitted. "But you must meet them, big brother. Taj, Kahn, and Kiara… they're all looking forward to meeting you, big brother."

"They sound beautiful," the li-tigon said. Now, he stopped pacing—and jerked his head. A moment later, Kochai joined him just inches from where rain would soak them both, and sat, and looked into the distance. She saw nothing, not even when she traced Freak's gaze toward some point to the southeast.

"Beautiful."

Freak's brother appeared, then, walking out of the forest and its shadows. His presence, like Freak's, was almost overwhelming—but it was only a second before Kochai saw that he wasn't alone.

"Samarra? Nasari? You, here? Alive?"

By the time Kochai's shock had worn off, the two young lionesses were close enough that she didn't get too too wet by racing out of the dry area to greet them. She laughed, then, and cried a little as well. These two young ones—they had been her protégés, her younger sisters. When they had vanished… she'd mourned for a week. But they were alive, it seemed—and well. How it had happened, Kochai didn't know, but for now, she didn't have the presence of mind to ask.

Soon, however, she was starting to get soaked again—and so she ushered the two younger females back into the dry area, still nuzzling them and examining them, closely, seeing how they had changed and grown in the months that had passed. Once she was back with Freak again, she nuzzled him too—he and his brother must have rescued them, or at least taken them in after their enemies had dragged them out of the Pride Lands.

"Why didn't you come back?" Kochai asked, turning to the young Pride Landers again. "Why didn't you…"

She fell silent, then. There was no verbal answer, but Nasari was standing next to Freak—and she was standing next to him just so. Their shoulders touched, and the way she moved… it was like she was the Moon and Freak was the Earth. There was a force between then, it seemed, that brought her to him and centered her motions around him, and, indeed, Freak was reciprocally affected.

"Big brother… you're… with Nasari?"

Freak nodded. His expression was not grim, but it was serious. In the same moment, Nasari leaned up and rubbed the smooth bluntness of her snout under the li-tigon's muzzle—and in that moment, Kochai saw the nameless but deep, powerful bonds that connected them. Did they love one another? This question couldn't be answered, not yet—but they did _require_ one another in a manner that Kochai understood very well, because she and her mate had the same connection.

She turned around, then, and saw Freak's brother and Samarra—they were walking back, together—yes, exactly that—together. Kochai looked between them, and Freak and Nasari—and then she just smiled.

"I never imagined this, big brother. You and Nasari; your brother and Samarra… I'm so happy for you all. Congratulations. I—"

Kochai stopped midword, then, and looked carefully into the distance. She swore she saw something, then—but now, it must have just been a trick of the light, off in the distance. She wasn't used to being in the Jungle, after all, and what she thought she'd seen was hundreds of yards away. It was just a trick of the light.

The tigress shook her head, then, and turned back to Freak. Still, her ears were focused on that distant point, where she'd—where she _hadn't_ seen anything at all. She tried to calm herself by smiling, and then spoke again.

"_Now_ can we leave?"

This time, Freak nodded—but he looked to Nasari and spoke in a tone so gentle that Kochai wondered if she was really hearing it.

"You'll have to stay here," the li-tigon said. "With Samarra. You won't be alone for long… once we get back to the Pride Lands, you will be reinforced. I'll send some strong lionesses back—and _all_ of the cubs. Soon, things at home will get violent… it won't be a good place for young ones or new mothers."

There was an implication, there, that Kochai didn't pick up on for a moment. When she did, though, she gasped, and stared—she didn't speak, however, and just tried to imagine—Freak, and Nasari…? How…? Was that even possible?

Nasari didn't protest what she'd been told. She simply said goodbye to Freak, then, by touching her cheek against his for a moment—and sadly standing back as he began to move away. Some yards away, a similar farewell was executed between Freak's brother and Samarra—and then, the two li-tigons moved to the north.

Kochai hurried to catch up, then, and for a moment, she just looked at Freak as they walked along. But Freak's eyes were locked forward, toward the Pride Lands—and so she said nothing, nothing at all. He and his brother had said their goodbyes—just two goodbyes, no more.

"Have things changed in the Pride Lands?" Freak asked. He seemed very interested, but there was an almost purposeful manner in which he was walking forward, like there was something he knew or that he was preparing to do that he hadn't told Kochai about.

In response, of course, she looked at him, and then all around—but there was nothing there. Nothing and no one apart from the forest and the rain, constantly flowing, trickling, pouring down onto the treetops and themselves below. The moistness in the air was almost palatable—she didn't like the feeling at all, as it would doubtlessly ruin all the careful effort she'd put into straightening her fur.

"They're much better, big brother," she finally answered. "It took a long time… but we planted some grasslands. And there are trees, big brother—you should see them. They're much bigger than they used to be. The herds have returned, big brother… they're probably staying in the northeast even now, to avoid these terrible rains. Big brother—what are you doing? Is there something wrong?"

Freak had dropped into a low, defensive posture, even as he continued to move forward. It was like he was stalking something—something powerful and dangerous and twice his size, although there was no chance—no chance at all—that such a thing existed, much less in their immediate vicinity. And yet, what could Kochai do but prepare to fight herself? She bared her teeth, halfway, and checked the vicinity, repeatedly, but there was nothing.

A heartbeat later, Freak started to run—and so did his brother. At first, Kochai did as well—but she checked behind them and saw nothing. So, she stopped, after peeling off to the side and standing up, erect, a pale sentinel in the dark forest—and watched as the two li-tigons struck not one, nor two, nor three, but four distinct figures.

Their faces and bodies were shadowed from Kochai, but she felt something hold her back from a violent reaction, even as the two large males were forced to the ground. She watched, then, as mocked combat quickly broke into nothing more than the affection she received regularly in the Pride Lands, the same affection that she had regularly given to Freak the last time they'd been together.

Freak was laughing by then. So was his brother. Kochai was still standing back in shocked silence, even as the intensity of the rainfall increased to the point that she'd be soaked thoroughly, through her fur, if she didn't get to cover soon. She just watched the scene, highlighted among the deep green of the plantlife and the dark brown of the earth and the slate gray of the rock that Freak had been born and raised in.

The Queen of the Pride Lands had seen and experienced a lot in her life—almost as much as Freak himself had in some ways, and a good deal more in other ways. Nothing could have prepared her for this, though. And so when her lips moved, then, she didn't speak in a tone of any certainty at all.

Kochai's muzzle parted. The dappled orange rust that dusted her ruff shifted over her muscles as she breathed in, tentatively, then tilted her head to murmur a single word almost as unbelievable as what she was seeing itself.

"Li-li-tigons…"

* * *

Tanga and Roderik were both alive. Tanga's age, by then, was fairly impressive—and it wasn't like he was immobile or weak, not at all. He ignored well-intended and probably wise advice to rest and went on patrols on a daily basis, often by himself. He liked the solitude, liked the ability to go around in the Pride Lands without worrying about pleasing some master a thousand miles away with interests apart from his own—he only worked for himself and his family, and he had plenty of time to think about it.

Roderik, of course, was always there to challenge any conclusions, any ideas that Tanga came to. They debated every few days, when they had the time. At first, Simba had been the only one to regularly listen to the clash of ideas, but soon, Akane and Aoi had joined him. Then their cubs had—and then the former Nomads and Desert Warriors had. And, in time, everyone who could did listen to the two old lions battle it out.

Recently, Tanga had adopted a skeptical viewpoint on things. Kochai had jokingly compared him to her own late, devoutly atheistic father, although Tanga claimed to still be a believer—at least, mostly. He rarely questioned the power, divinity, and motives of the Spirits—even since the war had long passed from present to past, that line of thought was taboo.

But he had thrown out almost all leaps of faith regarding the laws of nature, metaphysics, and any number of other things. He hadn't spoken to Freak after the li-tigon's stunning defeat of the Master of darkness—like everyone, he didn't know anything about that final showdown, so he didn't have a number of counter-phenomena to back up his central claim that, really, there were no constants in the universe—none at all… well, except for one.

That's what had him up early, the morning after Kochai had left. He was alone, at the peak of Pride Rock, peering out over the lands at the Sun itself, as, slowly, it began to creep over the horizon. Inch by inch, degree by degree, its rays pierced space and atmosphere before bringing heat, light, and life to the land.

It was an inspiring view, and a curious one, too—because every single day it was repeated without fail and without delay.

"Yes, it's there, all right."

Tanga turned not to see that it was Roderik, but to acknowledge the other lion's presence. He smiled as his friend walked forward, tired, a little shaky, but with strength and confidence—old age and all of its pitfalls couldn't be held at bay forever, but that was no reason for Roderik to fail to enjoy what life he had left in him.

"Roderik, it's nice to see you," Tanga replied. "But I was just watching a beautiful sunrise. Sometimes, my friend, a cigar is just a cigar."

"Indeed," the old lion parried, "but a skeptic is a skeptic is always a skeptic." He would have said more, then, but he was now at Tanga's side—now, he too was able to see the same view that the former assassin was as well, and that made him fall silent _very_ quickly.

They were left alone, then, for quite some time. Simba wasn't a morning feline—never had been, never would be. Kochai and those in her generation similarly preferred their beauty sleep to seeing admittedly awesome sights that could be seen again, any day, at will.

The two old lions were motionless for several long moments. In the end, it was Roderik that had to get up and pace, just a little, to warm up his cold joints. "Arthritis," he said, grimacing once when Tanga looked over to him in concern. "Getting old isn't all fun and games, Tanga. There is a price to pay for all good things…"

Tanga chuckled at that, idly, but it was clear that his mind was elsewhere. By then, the Sun was getting too bright to directly look at—but while he could, the old lion stood his ground and kept watching.

"The Spirits exist," he said, after finally turning away and facing his friend. "They exist. It's difficult to fit that fact into my worldview, but they exist—I admit it. But take your victories while you can, old man—because I'm not willing to concede anything more than that."

"So you still won't tell me what gives the Spirits power, then? Or what the cause of the universe itself is?"

"I'm working on that."

The two lions grinned, then—and in his mind, Tanga had to accept that, indeed, he was skeptical to the core—almost to a fault. But after another moment, Tanga turned away again. This time, he looked to the lands themselves, not the source of their energy. Overlaid across the sprawling plains and forests of the Pride Lands was the Pride Lands years ago, at the dark time immediately following the war when only death and darkness had existed. Things had changed, rapidly, and if he hadn't been around to observe those changes, every step of the way—well, then, he would have been skeptical of them as well.

"I won't question the Spirits anymore," Tanga finally said. "But… I can't accept that they are the highest truths, that they are the highest Gods… can't do that anymore. I think that the highest Gods are those that are self-evident."

He looked at Roderik—and Roderik seemed confused, so Tanga continued, after facing the land below them again.

"When we stop focusing so much on the Gods in the sky, perhaps we can focus more on the God within each of us. God… is within us. God is within nature. And nature will always grow… that's the force of all life… its purpose is to _grow_."

At first, what Tanga was saying didn't make sense. But as Roderik looked on, he saw a vision similar to what Tanga did.

The Pride Lands had gone from death and decay to life and prosperity in less than a generation. Kochai herself had gone from being a confused foreigner to the Queen of the Pride Lands… and then, there was Freak himself.

Born into misery and darkness, he had spent life in an eternal struggle either against himself or against more blatant foes. He had been exiled and thousands of different actors had made attempts on his life, and he had never, ever found true love or companionship, except for in a being whose lot was even worse off than his.

And yet, he had not only lived but he had _thrived_. He had done his duties, as a son of the Spirits and the Lion King and he had almost never forgotten about morality in his life. His existence as it was was a testament to what Tanga was saying… and Roderik couldn't evade that after a full ten seconds of consideration.

The two old ones looked to the south, then—someone was approaching, or a group of someones. At first, they felt concerned and prepared to rally up a defense—but then, they looked carefully and saw the unmistakable blend of white and orange of Kochai's fur. She was to one side of a group of three, and the others…

"Maybe you're right, Tanga," Roderik mouthed. He held his gaze on the approaching felines, for a moment, before glancing at the sky for a moment. The Spirits were there, he felt them—but then he tried and indeed felt Spirits everywhere, all around him—within him, too.

Life was hardship. But life was also victory, satisfaction, pleasure, and love. All that lived—even Freak—had experienced not just bits and pieces of life, but the whole range of emotions, both positive and negative, that entailed living. At times, it was hard for him and many others to see what the purpose of it all was, to see why they had to keep fighting—but he had never given up, and his last lesson had been to tell everyone else to live in the same way—to _live_.

"The purpose of all life, the nature of things," Roderik said, "is to grow. It's just to grow…"

Kochai and Freak and his brother were a ways off, then, despite how quickly their approach was. Both Roderik and Tanga were looking directly at them—and so they saw the two brothers and their own Queen move just a heartbeat before a roar as defiant as it was magnificent pierced the air.

In seconds, the old lions were not alone. The Pride Landers—all of them—formed up at the edge of Pride Rock, knowing, by instinct, precisely who had come and where they were coming from. And so the reciprocal roar, then, was _nearly_ as impressive as the original.

All of them stood rigidly straight as Kochai, Freak, and his brother continued to approach Pride Rock. It might take time for them to arrive, and it might take longer still for them to accomplish the goals that had been set out for them. But there was no urgency, then—there was just a strange sense of certainty. It wasn't that the fate of the Pride Lands had been set, not by a long shot—but the nature of those that lived there always had been.

Freak. Freak's brother. Kochai.

Simba. Tanga. Roderik. Akane. Aoi. Msaka. Shindani. Adhabu. Usiku. Swafi—and behind him, three young faces happy to see their mother returning with the uncles they'd heard about their whole lives but never seen. There were others, too, less memorable but every bit as alive and proud as their fellows—they stood there, tall and strong, hopeful, thoughtful, determined, and ever ready to fight to protect what was theirs. The heat and light of the early Sun struck their bodies and made them glow, as if in glory, as the world began to wake up around them.

They had all grown, over the years, and so had Freak. By then, he and his brother were close enough that eye contact could be made… and when it did, it did not break.

Time changed things, and people too. But the nature of life dictated that it always went on. Even the end of Freak was simply another beginning…

* * *

(And that's it: my Christmas gift to you. After two years, hundreds of thousands of words, endless hours of work and planning, Freak is finally, finally finished. As I said, even this end is another beginning, especially for me. Other fanfictions, within and without The Lion King will be released in the future, but there will be no sequels or side-stories to Freak unless things change in a manner that I can't conceive or another, highly competent writer wants to do it—and I don't think that's gonna happen, heheh.

I'd like to thank Kovukono for beta-ing a good number of chapters to the point of readability, which, of course, is a great deal of work indeed. I'd like to thank The Walt Disney Company for inspiring me with its masterpiece, and I'd also like to thank the brilliant artists that made The Lion King. I'd like to thank the innumerable, anonymous other artists and philosophers that inspired the various characters, events, thoughts, and places in The Freak—they've played a bigger role in this fanfiction than I thought possible.

If you're interested in seeing how Kifo turns out, check out the epilogue to My Name.

I'd like to clarify that Freak hasn't ended, not exactly. In my mind, and I hope yours as well, he and the other characters in this fanfiction will continue to struggle for many years to come. Apart from that, I have every intention of changing things, adding parts here and perhaps noting that some sections ought to be omitted from a "canon" reading of the fanfiction. As much of this story was written when I was an inexperienced writer, there are many flaws that will be fixed as time goes on.

In short, check back on this fanfiction from time to time, especially the earlier chapters. There will be more direction, more detail, and better prose… look forward to it, but do not hold your breath for it.

Well, it looks like that's about all I have to say with regards to Freak. Oh yeah—I'd like to thank you, of course, the readers and particularly the reviewers that made writing this piece fun and worthwhile for me. It's been an eventful few years, folks… I know that I've grown.

So, for the last time in The Lion King: The Freak… this is the Lion Sheikh of fanfiction, formerly known as -Mujahid—see you next chapter!)


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